The Revolt: Volume III
by Van's Scribbles
Summary: Rose Weasley begins her Seventh Year blood-thirsty and out for revenge. Yet, the Revolt has other plans. She, Albus and Scorpius must take on enemies she never expected and make allies in the most unlikely places. The revolt is in our blood and we all bleed. / The third and final part of The Revolt series.
1. Prologue

**_—_ _PROLOGUE—_**

 _"_ _A revolt is not a revolution, and a revolution is not a restoration."_

 _-Ancient Goblin Proverb_

 _"_ _I ask all of you — who does this law protect? Us, or them? I refuse to bow down any longer."_

 _–_ _Gellert Grindelwald._

* * *

Is this a moral tale, fiction with a fix of truth to teach you the lessons you need to learn?

No. That is sadly not the case. There is no moral to this story. There is no morality in this war.

Truthfully, this is the story of the wheel turning, of the endless cycle of unbroken misery.

This is the story of the brute's boot on the back of your neck.

The moment you learn to stand, you've planted your foot on another person's skull. It is the unnatural order of things. It is the pile of bodies we are born on. It is the way we always were.

You can only hope that you are a part of the "us".

* * *

She went by many names. Morgana the Unlikely. Morgana the Morose. It did not matter anymore what prefix was fixated to the end of her title. She may as well let her body and bones disintegrate into the rock that she ploughed.

Who was she? A slave too talented to kill. Deep in the mountain, deep at its heart, where the hollowed chasm glittered with the hard shards of quartz crystals, she dug and dug. If she did not find the treasure she was looking for, she would die here, her body entombed in the glittering womb of the craggy earth, as nothing more than a footnote in history.

The last four decades of the Goblin Kingdom would one day be studied in Universities as the most complex and turbulent period of revolution in their empire. It would be hotly debated, rewritten with revisionist lenses, studied and reviewed as a bloody turning point, as several centuries' worth of political repression erupting.

Morgana would always be at the centre of it all. A symbol of the resistance, of struggle, of contention—although her origins were ordinary enough.

The youngest child of three, the fate of her family rested on the backs of her two older brothers. A policy of parity made opportunity hard to come by in their society, and the only way to stand apart was to be a skilled metal smith; to make weapons, to mint gold, to work with metal was the only road to a better life. Morgana's parents were artisans—they designed furniture and restored antique goods, so their humble hopes rested on the success of their son.

The three children were all born with a competitive streak, hot as iron. Although Morgana was the youngest and female, she was just as eager to prove herself. Their parents knew that teaching Morgana would spur on their sons too, so all three were trained in the art of metalwork before they could even write or read.

While the middle son produced fine instruments, he never had the natural skills of his sister. They were often playfully competitive, driving the other's successes as they learned the goblin's first and most ancient craft. While his designs were clumsy, they were strong. Morgana's were delicate, dexterous and deft. The eldest brother was power hungry, desperate to beat them both, but he never possessed the skills of his younger siblings, and within him, envy began to brew.

At the age of twelve, Morgana was expected to give up her education and dedicate herself to the skills of the hearth and home—as was the custom of the goblins. She was expected to become a mother for more metal smiths, more warriors, more goblins.

Yet her skills were unprecedented, outstripping both her older brothers. Her parents recognised her talent and continued her education. She was not allowed to enter the Royal Academy like her brothers, so her parents pooled all their gold to pay for her private tuition. A young goblin named Orlick, an expert metal smith belonging to the unprejudiced sort, agreed to teach her everything he knew. Talent was talent, wherever it was found, and it was a resource to be mined and utilised like any other.

Ironically, the first thing Orlick taught her was how to make an axe. The best weapons should first be tools, Orlick taught her, and so they made many axes. Pickaxes, mattocks, long fauchards with iron bills.

Now, she grunted with the effort of the axe in her blistered hands. Much further below, she heard the other prisoners chipping away at the hard stone, loud and high cracks echoing up to her. In her hands now, the axe was neither a tool nor a weapon. Blunt and poorly made, it was just a weight, a reminder of her imprisonment.

If she could get her hands on some _metal_ , thing would be different. The other prisoners, most who now hated her for her failure, could rally again. They could have weapons. Morgana could make something out of anything. She had surpassed Orlick's skills by the age of sixteen. He recommended her another tutor, a goblin within the King's royal circle, an expert in dragon traps and hunting weapons. Here, she mingled with the nobility. The more she excelled, the more she caught the ageing King's eye, impressed by her hard work and adroit handiwork.

It was hard to remember being that young. So many decades ago, in a time where she had known peace, or what had seemed like peace then. Life has not been fair or good; she had been barred from attending the Royal Academy; she was expected to marry by the time she turned eighteen so that she could begin having children. She pressed against a future that collapsed on her like rubble. She wanted the heat, the spark, the cool steam of her skill. But while that past life had been oppressive, it was nothing like her current life, a life of tyranny and torment, a life of bestial slavery.

The Goblin King was selected from his people not because of a royal linage, but because he was the greatest metal smith within the Kingdom. He was expected to work the hardest, to produce the greatest innovation and creations, to lead his industry as well as his subjects. When he grew too tired or ill to work, he would select the next King, the next great Metal Worker, and begin training them to take his place.

When the King was ready to retire, he held the competition for all of the Royal Academy students who were of age. They worked for weeks to present their creations, forming swords and shields, elaborate dirks or fortified suits of armour. The King was unsatisfied with all of their work, including Morgana's two brothers. It was their greatest disappointment and rejection.

In all this time, since they had entered the Academy, Morgana had not seen her brothers. The days of their youth, their silly competitions, could not have prepared the two goblins for their sister's sudden infamy. The King had called forth the student that his own weapon's smith had been tutoring. Morgana was given only one night to complete a piece of metalwork that would prove that her skills were unparalleled. That would set her apart from the entire Royal Academy, make her known to the empire.

And she did.

 _The best weapons should first be tools_. She created a hammer, a large mallet, strong enough to crack the skull of a dragon, light enough for a child to wield. She had melted it over the fire of a Norwegian Ridgeback and used the dragon's venom as a coolant, making the metal indestructible.

There had been a moment, when she had handed the mallet to the King, where the enormity of what she was doing had sunk in. She was only seventeen, too young to realise the waves she was creating. All she felt was pride like coal, burning where her heart ought to be. That she had been noticed. That she had won.

When the King named Morgana the next leader of the Kingdom, riots broke out.

A female could never lead their people, protect their borders, direct their armies. The crown must go to her next of kin, to a male, to someone capable of leading them. When the King refused this, protests turned to revolts. Orlick hid Morgana deep in the mountain. The crowning ceremony was delayed with the hopes that the controversy would die away.

But from the very house she had been forced to flee, a plot was brewing. Morgana's brothers stole her hammer, and with it, they murdered the King. The eldest took the crown, the youngest kept Morgana's hammer. It was a deal they struck so they could each gain power over their sister, but their jealousies and competitiveness continued to brew, as they both envied the other's spoils. To have both her crown and her hammer would make one unstoppable.

It was the destruction of their family and of their kingdom.

There was resistance, of course, at first. Waves of supporters who wanted her to be crowned. There were battles in the streets. Average citizens took their pickaxes and ploughs and tried to attack the royal military. They stood no chance.

Even the inner royal circle tried to assassinate the two brothers—but it was impossible to get near the King while his brother wielded the hammer. No one could withstand it's mighty blow. It crunched armour, it turned steel to dust. The eldest brother grew tyrannical, protected by the fear of his subjects. The youngest brother became a thug, addicted to the power of his violence.

Morgana had her supporters to begin with. There were those who recognised what was right and what was fair and what would be best for the progression and creativity of their Kingdom. They were now either dead or in the pit below her, digging with their axes, the chains dangling from their feet.

She was defeated, in body and in spirit. She had been down in the bowls of the mountain for over four decades. All defectors of the current regime had been killed in waves, and since then, no one was willing to say as much as a complaint against the King.

Beneath the earth for so many years, cut off from her own Kingdom, Morgana had no idea that the goblins had turned their eyes beyond their own borders. That they had invaded the Wizarding world. That they now possessed wands, that they had taken hold of Gringotts, that they were struggling for control over the humans.

If she had known that there was a new resistance thrumming underground, a new threat to the goblin's tyranny, an insurgency made up of a different species with the same goal, perhaps she would have felt a flicker of hope for the first time in many years.

But all she knew was her misery. Morgana the Miserable. She was sure that would be the epitaph given in the history books.

* * *

He went by many names. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. It did not matter what epitaph they attached to him anymore. Harry Potter was in no way destined to fight in this battle. He was not chosen to defeat the goblins. He was no longer an Auror, he was no longer the leader of the Order. In fact, the vocational powers of his childhood had been plucked away. Providence had dealt a new hand to their children instead, and he was their guardian, their guide, their audience.

He looked at Albus, Rose and Scorpius and had to stop himself from grimacing, knowing how heavy the burden of a prophecy was on a seventeen year olds' shoulders.

Even now, he had to divert his tired eyes, he had to pretend to look elsewhere so he could avoid their stares. They stood before him in a row, an unmoveable surly wall of three. Rose the tallest, by perhaps an inch, then Scorpius, then Albus—so small by contrast, almost half a head shorter. It was the hardest to look at him.

They had come into his office carrying the same air and energy he had once carried, the air of expectations, of impossible destiny, or responsibility. As if he had denied them their duty and he was to blame.

Rose, all freckled and fierce, her blue eyes like bolts of electricity. She was always balled fists and hunched shoulders, ready to fight.

Scorpius was slick and stony faced, hard to read, as if some part of him had been shut down in order to survive. He spoke in short, analytical bursts. He always had his wand in his hand—even now, it was clutched in his spindly fingers—and his eyes were always scanning. A vigilant vigilante in the making.

Albus was so soft, so young, so much like Harry had when he had gone off to find Horcruxes. That had been his task, and at the time it seemed impossible, but at least he had some sort of roadmap left by Dumbledore, some sort of objective. Destroy Voldemort's soul, kill Voldemort, the world would be free from his cruelty. But this was murkier. The borders were blurry. It was hard to distinguish the enemy, harder still to find the way to end the fight. Albus was quiet and sensitive, with the hands of a Healer, not a fighter.

Harry would sometimes sit up late at night, pacing the Defence Against the Dark Art's office that Lupin had once tutored him in, trying to keep his itching eyes open as he relived the last two years. What could he have done differently? It had started so long before Gladstone, before even Kingsley. What if he could have seen it earlier, back when Romnuk's gangs first started appearing, back when James was just a toddler and Albus was a baby and Lily wasn't even born. What if the Auror department had cracked down harder, had gone after them, had locked them up?

But he remembered when they tried to imprison the gang members in Azkaban and the welfare agencies had protested locking up foreign non-beings in Wizard prisons. Send them back for the King to deal with, they said, but the King never dealt with them. They let it slide and slide, they kept giving concessions. Maybe if Harry had acted sooner, more harshly. Maybe if they had fought wand rights harder. Maybe if they had sent Dementors after Romnuk—but he stopped there, feeling sick and oily inside, knowing that this is how the wheel turns. He was turning into the despots he once despised.

So he was relieved he was no longer an Auror and no longer the leader of the Order. He was glad not to be the Chosen One. For the first time in a very long time, Harry Potter's moral compass was muddled.

It was hard to find fault. There was no point trying, anyway. Everyone was guilty these days. Everyone had blood on their hands, including him. The Ministry, the Order, the Goblin Gangs. Even the bystanders were guilty, the straw man masses that had let their hymns of progress become regressive, that had turned their cheeks away and turned their brains off. Everyone was guilty, so who could restore justice? Who could meter out a punishment? Everyone was guilty, and nobody was.

The guiltless ones were the ones too young to have helped make the mess. The last of the innocent were the students who Harry desperately tried to teach. They would be sent like lambs to the slaughter, and this thought kept him up at night, unable to sleep, his head throbbing so much it was reminiscent of his aching scar.

All the wars he had lived through had twisted him. They had made him bitter and hard. They had worn away his idealism. He understood now the outlook of Mad-Eye Moody, of Dumbledore. Their jaded and thorny morality. He was turning into them. The debris of all his battles has chipped away at Harry until there was very little left.

Only the youngest generations, fresh eyed and full of optimism, could stand a chance of creating a better world, and they would be the ones sent off to fight. Whoever survived would become like _him,_ and the wheel would forever turn.

Harry Potter could not look at Rose, Scorpius or Albus as they stood before his desk, demanding that they be allowed to strategize and fight. Looking at them only reminded him that they were pieces in a perilous chess game.

So while the remainder of his mauled morality begged Harry to keep them in the dark, he simply couldn't anymore. They were the last hope left. When the three of them showed up that afternoon in his office—fists clenched, eyes darting, face tender—and demanded that they were allowed to sit into the next Order meeting, Harry had no choice but to finally meet their eyes and agree.

He was not the Chosen One anymore. They were.

* * *

I insist that there is no moral to this story—perhaps there are lessons, but they are lessons unlearned.

The truth is, we all turn into our worst enemies. The truth is, war is the great machine that keeps the cosmos churning. The social order is in constant revolt, whether one can see it or not. Even during peace, the revolt must be quietly fed, it must eat away at the corners. There is always struggle, valiant or pitiable. It is struggle coloured in the metal-stench of blood.

But struggle can never quite quench the great thirst for revolution, the ravenous revolutionaries. The revolt is in our blood and we all bleed.

* * *

 **A/N: The last and final installation of The Revolt is now underway! Thanks for your reviews, support and patience. Updates won't be too regular, but follow my tumblr and instagram to stay in touch during the in-between periods.**

 **Let's get this crazy show on the road, shall we?**


	2. Chapter One

—CHAPTER ONE—

Rose would be attending her first Order meeting that night.

It was the final day of July, the summer air balmy and warm, the grounds of Hogwarts buzzing with humble bumblebees, quiet and idyllic. After weeks of harassing their parents, they would finally be allowed to sit into an Order meeting.

She and Scorpius were in the greenhouses for a change, standing on the long benches as if mounted on a stage. Both had their wands out. Rose was sweating. Sure enough, the air of the greenhouse was humid, fogging the glass panels. It was too hot, but they were tired of practising in the unused classrooms, where the noise always attracted the other students that had chosen to stay on the grounds. Scorpius suggested the greenhouse and Rose thought that perhaps the flowers and foliage may have a settling effect on her mind.

"Focus," Scorpius said, his face hard, his wand extended. "You need to focus."

"I _am_ ," Rose said between her teeth. She moved her feet a shoulder width apart, readying her stance again, crouching in the knees. She raised her wand and blinked the sweat from her eyes.

Scorpius flung the first curse wordlessly. Rose was able to protect herself with a silent Shield Charm, but it was all she could do to hold it. Her nonverbal offense was so poor that it was embarrassing. It was the first time Scorpius had ever held the upper hand in one of their duels.

"Attack Rose!"

She attacked. She tried twice to aim the spells nonverbally, but nothing but sparks came from her wand, and during this interlude she was hit with a Stinging Spell. She tried to duck left and almost slid off the table, forcing her back into the line of fire. With her shoulder still stinging, a Jelly-Leg Jinx hit her hard in the knees. After a slight wobble, she produced the counter-curse and darted around his next hex.

"Focus!"

Finally, she got a nonverbal curse out, blinding Scorpius—at least it was a good curse—and sending him staggering back down the table, grappling at his eyes. She advanced and tried another silent curse, and this one worked too. She squeezed her concentration around the spell, and it shot from her wand. It was finally working.

"Alright, let's break."

They spent ten minutes tending to their wounds, restoring their skin with half-hearted counter-curses. They were both sweating through their t-shirts, the humidity making it hard for them to breathe now.

"That was better," Scorpius said, getting his breath back far quicker than his partner. "You're not as terrible as when we first started. Have you been doing the mindfulness exercises I set you to do before bed?"

Rose raised her eyebrows. Without parting her lips, she twirled her wand and sent one of the nearby flowerpots up into the air, hovering it over Scorpius' head.

He pursed his lips to stop himself smiling. "It's easy to do nonverbal magic when you're not in a duel."

"It's _easy,_ is it?" Rose asked, twisting her wand again. The pot flipped itself, emptying the soil all over Scorpius' blond head. "Oh, you were right, that was easy enough."

"What're you two doing in the greenhouses?"

Professor Longbottom was at the door, his face covered in scruffy stubble, uncharacteristically casual in his day clothes but still as stern as any Headmaster should be. Rose hastily flicked her wand, sending the soil back into the pot, and the pot back to its shelf. Scorpius shook the remainder of it out of his eyes.

"You aren't even a Herbology teacher any more," Scorpius retorted.

Their Professor laughed, a little miffed by their moxie. He crossed his arms. "Oh, sod off, then, won't you?"

They stalked out of the greenhouse, ducking their heads at they passed him. Rose made sure to cover the Stinging Jinx on her shoulder with her bushy hair. She and Scorpius had been practicing nonverbal duels every day since the start of the summer holidays. They tried to keep it as private as possible to avoid attention, but they were quickly running out of big enough spaces to practice.

They were also keeping it a secret from Albus, something they half-heartedly agreed upon when they had first started doing nonverbal exercises in the Slytherin Common room following the End of Term Feast. Their magic was getting more and more advanced—the better Rose got as doing nonverbal magic, the harder they made the spells. They thought Albus might not approve of how dangerous their duels were becoming, or that they were using one another as target practice. Whenever he suspiciously asked where they were off to, the pair of Slytherins would say they were off to do couple things—Rose usually suggesting that she was going to spend some time snogging Scorpius and Albus was more than welcome to join them—but this excuse felt weak behind the bravado. Affection wasn't very high up their priority list in their current state, and almost anyone who knew them could see that.

"You haven't concealed your bruise properly," Rose said, tugging at Scorpius' neck as they made their way toward the school. "You should practice your Concealment Charms."

"Says you," Scorpius replied drolly. "You look like you've had an allergic reaction."

They entered the Great Hall, which seemed larger now, as there were only two long tables filling the room. One for the students, one for Hogsmeade residents, Order members and alumni who had all stayed behind. It was still strange getting use to the lack of House divisions, the disappearance of banners, although Rose had been hopping between tables for so long that she was only relieved she could now openly sit with her family. They found Albus in the crowd, sitting opposite Mary Boot and Angus Finnigan, eating a chicken broth. Everyone had noticed that the food was being rationed—that there were only three types of dishes served each night and no longer any desserts. It was something Isabella Nott complained about frequently in their common room.

"How are you wearing long sleeves?" Rose asked Albus, clambering over her bench with her long legs, "It's so warm outside."

"You're worried about my long sleeves. Meanwhile, we're eating chicken soup."

"Ah, chicken soup," Scorpius said, taking a seat beside Mary, opposite Albus. "Nothing I prefer better on a hot summer's day."

Mary smirked and stirred her soup slowly. "At least it tastes good."

"At least we're not starving," Angus added. "They're Hagrid's chickens."

"You mean, the chickens that he keeps to feed all his creepy critters?" Albus asked.

"Soon ferret will be on the menu," Rose interjected.

They all grinned at each other and returned to their meals, spoons clanking against the sides of their bowls. The glass sky above them was beginning to cool in colour, turning a dusky blue, the clouds creamy like peaches. Night was coming.

Rose plucked Albus' sleeve discretely and leaned in to say something in his ear. "First Order meeting tonight."

"How could I forget?" he murmured back.

Rose let go of his arm and noticed, as he shook his sleeve back into place, a long scaly scar running up his arm and disappearing under the fabric. The angry red scab peeked out for a moment, startling her, but it was hidden too quickly for Rose to put her shock into words.

"What time shall we meet?" Albus went on, not noticing her expression.

"Er—ten to seven at the staff room. Al, is everything okay?"

Their eyes met, green against blue, both muddy with concern as they took the other in. Albus nodded once.

Another joined their number—Lucy Bird, her blonde her swinging in its ponytail as she took a seat beside Finnigan. She was holding a library book. The library was mostly deserted nowadays, no Librarian to keep it in order, just piles of books that were read and then never returned to shelves, piled up on tables, like paper dunes in a paper wasteland.

"I found it, Al," she said, sliding the book across the table to him. He caught it and flipped it over. Rose read over his shoulder, _Mending the Unmendable_ by Josefina Calderon. "It was still in the return pile from the previous group of seventh-years."

"Cheers," Albus said, tucking the book into his bag, under the table. And the distraction made it impossible for Rose to broach the subject again, so she dropped it for the time being.

While she was gradually doing better, it was hard for Rose to be emotionally in tune with the people around her. The better she was getting at nonverbal magic, the harder it was for her to _talk_. All her energies circulated around learning to cast advanced spells without words, on an unnaturally internal process. She found it difficult to focus on reading other people's moods. Everyone was permanently grim on their bottom most layer, so it was hard to judge how well they were coping. Albus had seemed to be okay in the last few weeks—keeping busy, always in company—so Rose had assumed he was doing okay.

Albus checked his watch, and then clambered back over his seat, dragging his bag along with him. He gave Rose's shoulders a squeeze.

"Gotta go, but I'll see you before the meeting tonight."

"Where're you going?"

"Just have to be somewhere."

He was off, and Rose was left with a sick feeling in her stomach. Like most things these days, it was hard to put it into words, but it didn't stop her from feeling it.

* * *

Becoming a teacher was a bit of a throwback for Harry Potter. In fact, it was one of the few things—alongside his family and friends—that still gave him joy. He should have expected this. Taking on trainee Aurors was one of his favourite parts of the job, and writing the Auror's curriculum for their training courses was more enjoyable than the usual paperwork he had to push through.

But teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts was different. It made Harry feel fifteen again, standing in the Hog's Head with Ron and Hermione stubbornly by his side, a list of sign up names on a piece of charmed parchment. It reminded him of secret classes in the Room of Requirement where they practised spells beneath The Inquisitorial Squad's noses. He always came back to that moment, the reluctance he felt having to pass on skills that felt like nothing more than survival instincts, something unteachable.

He was right back there again, much older this time, much wiser, much more experienced, but still needing to impart something that could not be learned in a textbook or a classroom.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had been a blessing and a curse throughout Harry's entire school life. It was the class he excelled at most, that he knew he needed once he was out of Hogwarts. It was also the class he had to wrestle against most, with teachers like Quirrell, Barty Crouch Junior and Umbridge posing real threats to his life. But the content never betrayed Harry, and he still leaned on it.

Harry and Ginny were living in the Defence Against the Dark Art's office quarters that all the previous teachers had used during their stay in the position. It was unsettling at first to think that whenever Quirrell went to sleep, Voldemort's face had pressed into the pillows that he and his wife now shared. Of course, Ginny reminded Harry that there was no chance these were the same sheets, or even the same bed, that their Defence teachers had used—but it was hard to shift the thought.

To balance out the unnerving reminders, he found himself thinking most about Remus Lupin. It was hard not to think about him when it was this office that once held a Grindylow tank and Remus' tattered textbooks, cardigans draped over desk chairs and—even on one occasion—the Marauder's Map that he had helped make. Remus would have shared this bedroom too, and the thought made him breathe easy, knowing it was one of the few times in Remus' life that he had been safe and well.

Of course, these thoughts always made him think of Teddy, and it had been so long since he had spent time with Teddy that all he could do was ache.

There were still crumbs in his bed. Ginny had said she had dusted them all off the sheets that morning, but he found them scattered on the quilt. He had turned forty-three that day. Ginny had woken him at midnight in bed with a cupcake balanced on her palm, the candlestick burning, and telling him to make a wish.

It was extraordinary that when he was eleven, he could close his eyes as he lay on the floor of a rainy shack on a rock in the middle of nowhere and wish for life to get better, and it seemed that it had. With magic, everything _had_ to be better.

"Sometimes I think we should get a contingency escape plan together," Harry told Ginny as she licked the icing off her fingers.

"Mm—what, and just take off like Percy did?"

"Well, if it gets to that point where we run out of options."

Ginny had frowned at him in their cramped office room and gently placed her sticky fingers on his cheek. These words, she knew, were very unlike Harry. "We can't run."

"I know," he had frowned, shaking his head. "I know."

"There are too many of us anyway—we can't take _everyone_ with us."

"But can't we? How about we all meet at the Burrow and then leave for Romania—"

"Our family is enormous, Harry. Would you be satisfied if it was just us and the kids? What about Hermione and Ron? George and Angelina, Bill and Fleur? And then you would be too anxious to leave Neville behind—or Luna—"

"It was just an idea." Harry then huffed, falling back onto his pillows.

Ginny had eaten most of his birthday cupcake, but he didn't mind. She straddled him on the bed, her knees creaking into the mattress on either side of his hips, and she popped the last bit of sponge cake into his mouth.

"You don't want to run," she said. "You never run."

Harry sighed, looking up at her. Without his glasses, she was fuzzy around the edges. He licked the icing off her finger. "I'd run if it meant they would be safe."

"It's funny, how protecting the ones you love makes you selfish," she grinned. She leaned down and kissed her husband briefly. His expression was unchanged when she pulled back. "They'd never be safe, Harry. Even if we run."

Ginny had climbed off of Harry, dusting the crumbs off the sheets and snuggling herself in beside her husband. She wrapped her arms and legs around his back, tucking her chin into his neck. While Harry would never admit it, Ginny was always the big spoon, especially on nights like these.

Harry used his wand to get rid of the last of the crumbs. He would have a quick dinner before the Order meeting, which he had been prepping on—Hermione's orders—and mentally prepare to have his own child sit in and participate.

He slipped out of his office into the Defence classroom and almost jumped out of his skin. His wife was standing beneath the dragon skeleton, which now dangled with silver and gold streamers. The floor was cleared of desks, except for a much larger table beneath the chandelier, where a high tea had been set up—teapot and mini sandwiches and all.

"Merlin, are you trying to rub in how old I am?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just tea—the kids should be here any minute."

Harry took a seat and pointed up at the streamers dandling from the dragon's ribcage. "Is this insensitive?"

"That dragon's been dead a very long time. I don't think he minds."

Perhaps half a lifetime spent together was better than Legilimency lessons, because Ginny wound her way around the table and wrapped her arms around Harry's neck. She sighed heavily, running her hands through the beard that he had started growing at the beginning of the summer.

"What's on your mind? Upset Al is coming to our Order meeting?"

"No," Harry said decidedly. "No, I'm just annoyed there were still crumbs in my bed."

"Nonsense. I got them all."

"Mhm. Peeves must have put them there, I suppose."

"What's really bothering you? You're not still thinking of running, are you?"

Harry sighed heavily. Since midnight had passed, the erratic thought of an escape plan had gone with it. What was bothering Harry was much worse; he had to let his children fight, he had to even risk their lives on purpose knowing that it may be the only way to end the battle. While the realisation was coming, it was hard to accept it; that there was a prophecy, that Albus, Rose and Scorpius would be offered up like lambs to the slaughter.

"Maybe I shouldn't come to the meeting."

Ginny snapped back now, the softness in her arms vanishing. She walked around him so they could look at one another, face to face.

"Don't start on this again, Harry. You're not in charge of the Aurors or the Order. That's enough concessions. You have to come to the meetings."

"I just don't know if my input there is where I'm most—"

"Your input is one of the only reasons people come to these meetings. Why we have an army."

"That's the problem though, isn't it?" Harry snapped. "I don't want to be some mastermind tweaking the strings in the background, Ginny! I'm not some brilliant strategician who can just use people—"

"That's what Ron's there for—"

"You really think if Rose wants to storm Hogsmeade next month, or Gringotts, Ron will put her on the front lines, do you?"

They stared at each other tersely for a moment, a nerve working in Ginny's jaw. She opened her mouth to retort just as the classroom's door opened, and both James and Lily came in. The mood immediately changed—neither were on the Order (James didn't want to be, and Lily was too young to join) so they made an effort not to talk too much about Order business in front of them. This topic was particularly off the table.

"Sorry, James insisted on eating dinner before coming up here," Lily sighed, rolling her eyes. "He thought there wouldn't be enough food."

"Well, they're bloody starving us here anyway," James replied flippantly. "I might as well take two dinners where I can."

Ginny didn't say anything. Since the siege, she was very careful to tiptoe around James, hell bent on making sure he was recovering.

And James had improved—slowly. Painfully. He spent most of his time around his father or Lorcan. They didn't talk about the war in front of him, or Hogsmeade, and that was working for now. They talked a lot about other things though; James suddenly thirsty to hear about Harry's own escapades as a child in a way that he hadn't been since he was a young teen. He wanted to hear stories of heroics, of life and death experiences, of calamities and their resolutions.

Harry never told those stories unless they were the punch line to a joke or an embellished fantasy before bedtime. The words felt heavy now, reliving them to adult children. That he sobbed over Cedric's body; that his first taste of firewhiskey followed Mad Eye Moody's death. The basilisk wasn't nearly as scary as the fact a teacher tried to rob them of their memories to save his skin. It was unpleasant reliving the blank look on Stan Shunpike's face, or the callous disbelief of the Minister for Magic when they told him Voldemort was back. Voldemort didn't seem real in these stories anymore. He had become the Big Bad Wolf, impossibly evil and twisted, ready to be destroyed from the outset. It was harder to explain Dolores Umbridge, who tortured schoolchildren while convinced she was doing what was best. It was hard to explain the little moments attached to the smaller people, the ordinary people who created so much pain.

James loved these stories but Lily was quick to cut them off, a knowing look in her expression. She hated reliving the morbidity and seeing the way it entertained her brother.

"Hi, Daddy," Lily added candidly, skipping around the table to kiss the side of his cheek. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks little one," Harry said smiling half-heartedly. He watched his daughter settle into the chair opposite him, neatening the teapot between them so the spout and handle were parallel to both sides of the table.

Harry tilted his head to the side as he surveyed his fifteen year old and wondered where on earth she got her precision. She took one of the finger sandwiches and placed it on a plate, sliding it across to her father.

"Remember when we used to have tea parties?" Lily suddenly asked, looking up at him.

"Yes. You were a little tea party tyrant back then."

"You're telling me," James huffed, taking the seat beside her. "You never had to deal with one of her famous tea party tantrums."

"James, you _caused_ the tea party tantrums," his father replied sternly.

If they weren't at Hogwarts, sitting under the cavernous dragon skeleton in the Defence classrooms, this would have felt like any other summer.

Ginny poured them both tea and glanced at the door. "Where's Albus?"

"Oh, I think he was coming," Lily shrugged.

"Couldn't he have been on time? We don't have long before the meeting."

"It's fine," Harry placated. He took a bite from his sandwich, making loud grunting noises to express his delight.

Ginny tsked and shook her head, leaning her hip against the table and refusing to take a seat. Her dark eyes were fixed on the door, waiting. But Harry didn't mind Albus' absence as much as he should have. It was Albus that he felt heaviest for. Albus, who shared his same green eyes and dark hair, the same burdens. Ginny was tapping her fingers in aggravation, eyes on the door.

Albus, Rose and Scorpius troubled him. They reminded him too much of Ron, Hermione and himself when he was their age. It was stark looking at them and seeing a mirrored reflection. And he wasn't stupid—he knew they were preparing. They were stepping up, thinking they were being discrete about it. Off in the library, locked in old classrooms. In the same way he, Hermione and Ron had been readying themselves at the Burrow, perched to take off, they were getting ready to leave.

There was no stopping it, and it would be foolish to try and slow them down as Mrs Weasley had once done. Harry's only choice was to equip them. But the very thought of that made him ache.

The door opened and Albus popped his head in. Ginny opened her mouth, ready to argue, but he merely flung his school tie at his father and smiled coyly.

"Put that over your eyes please."

"What's going on?" Ginny frowned.

Lily giggled.

Harry knotted the Gryffindor tie around his eyes, James making sure it was secured in place, waving a few obscene hand gestures in front of his father just to be sure. Lily wound her arm through her father's and led him from the room, still muffling her giggles. They were going in a small brigade, Ginny no longer irked, but her voice still sceptical as she prompted, "What're you three up to?"

They helped Harry jump a trick stair. They got him up a second, moving staircase. He wondered whether they were taking him to the Gryffindor common room—which would be a treat, he felt. To see the old fireplace, the round tower, the Sword of Gryffindor behind its glass case. But he sensed they were travelling in the wrong direction, although they were up very high by now.

After a pause, a set of doors clicked open and he had his blindfold removed as Lily ushered him inside.

It was their lounge room—exactly their lounge room. The brick fireplace with the family portraits stood opposite the comfy chintz sofas and armchairs, and on the coffee table, there was a frosted cake bedecked with candles. It had been so long since Harry had been in their home that it muddled him for a moment.

It was the Room of Requirement, certainly. But it fooled him, just for a second.

"Surprise," his children chorused, grinning. They all began an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday, which Ginny laughed throughout, weaving her arm around Harry's shoulders, smitten by the sweetness of their children. They finished singing but Harry didn't want to move. This was too nice. They were so safe and cozy. Lily waltzed around to the cake and knelt down beside it, grinning up at him. "C'mon Dad, make a wish."

When Harry hesitated, Albus caught his eyes and nodded towards the table. It was hard to look away from him. It was Albus who must have gotten the room ready and it was perfect, right down to the last detail.

There was only one wish he wanted to make, and that was to keep his children safe. As he closed his eyes and blew out the little dancing flames, he poured his whole heart into that wish, until it was almost a plea, a prayer. _Keep them safe_ , he wished.

But as the candles went out, he felt his heart give a squeeze. He couldn't guarantee their safety, and the longer they stayed here, the greater danger they would be in. And Harry would just allow the danger to find them, in the hopes they could stand up against it.

It was terrifying.

* * *

Rose and Scorpius met Albus outside of the staffroom, where he showed up with his mum and dad, walking between them both like he would have done as a child. But now, Albus was almost the same height as his father, like a younger imitation, and there was nothing childish in his expression.

There were not as many people as she had expected. Only about fifteen, gathered around the table. It was far more intimate than the last Order meeting she had burst into—for instance, none of her teachers were there except for Professor Longbottom. There were a few others she didn't know by name.

A nervous energy had suddenly charged through her body. Since Harry had agreed to their demands to attend the Order meetings, Rose had been quietly satisfied. Having been barred for so long, she hadn't anticipated what it would be like to actually sit in this room. Maybe Albus and Scorpius felt the same, but she couldn't shrug the feeling that she was out of place.

She noticed her mother, bushy hair tied back into a bushy bun, lean down and murmur something into her father's ear, who in response, dug what looked to be a lighter from his pocket. His Deluminator. Rose noticed it the same time that Harry caught the subversive action, but as he opened his mouth to enquire or protest, Ron had already clicked the contraption, sucking all the light from the room. In the sudden pitch of darkness, everyone burst into a very cheery rendition of Happy Birthday, just as Hagrid appeared—squeezing through the door—with a cake.

Caught by surprise, the three of them only managed to join in half way through the song.

"Oh no—why'd you have to—thank you, Hagrid, this is really nice, I can tell you baked it yourself—but I _told_ you, Hermione, I didn't want a fuss—yes well, sure, I'll blow out the candles, but then straight into the meeting."

Rather perturbed, Harry's blew out his candles with what was more or less a sigh. Everyone applauded, Ron got the lights back into their lanterns and Hermione Summoned the cake across the table so she could divvy it up into symmetrical pieces.

"Some of you may have noticed," Harry added, as Ginny forcibly put a pointy cardboard birthday hat on his head, "that Rose, Scorpius and Albus have joined us today. They'll just be sitting in and observing for the moment, so it might be worth us catching them up on all the details."

Everyone turned to the three teenagers, greeting them oddly as if they were foreign dignitaries, and not a group of family friends and strangers.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Hermione asked, dipping her quill into parchment.

"I think our most pressing concern is that the gangs in Hogsmeade are tunnelling again."

"To lay mines or to get into the school?" a woman that Rose recognised as an ex-Auror asked.

"Well, it's hard to say…"

"Don't we have a contact in Hogsmeade?"

"He's out," Harry said, frowning. "He got discovered. Right now, we have no information."

"Based on what our contact found out before he was exposed, we think these tunnels are unmined. That they are building passages. You all know that we've been running surveillance and physiological warfare on the gangs in Hogsmeade. Oh—well, I suppose not all of you are aware," Hermione hesitated, catching her daughter's eye. "Ron, will you quickly brief us?"

Ron leaned forward on his elbows, and under this lighting, Rose noticed that he was beginning to go bald.

"What we've been doing for the last few weeks is Transfiguring the suits of armour in the school and sending them down to Hogsmeade in the middle of the night to march the perimeter of the town. It sets off their alarms and it also sets off their mines. Keeps them up through the nights, which is good. We've noticed that it's slowing down their tunnelling, too."

"But the tunnels are definitely not mined," Hermione added. "Courtesy of Minerva, the suits of armour have already detonated all of the explosives."

But this was not a relief. If the tunnels were not defensive, then they must be _offensive_. As this dawned dreadfully on Rose, the same realisation spread around the room.

"So…zey are trying to get into ze school?" Fleur asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

"It appears that way."

"It's not worth being worried about," Neville added. "We've reinforced all of the soil around the school—it's harder than concrete. No one can dig through it. Not even goblins."

"But they _are_ trying to get in—and it's worth asking why," Hermione said promptly. "We're trying something at the moment—since the goblins are so keen to kill off Harry and I, we think this may be why they're trying to get into Hogwarts."

"Naturally," Harry shrugged, his party hat making him entirely impossible to take seriously.

"So, we came up with a plan. It's taken us awhile to get it into place, of course, because we need to brew a batch of Polyjuice Potion—"

"Hermione's speciality," Ron grinned.

"—But we're going to have a decoy Harry and Hermione stationed away from Hogwarts to draw the goblins off."

"And Harry's agreed to this?" Minerva asked slowly, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, it's not the first time," Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I'm not entirely pleased about it but if it means the tunnels stop—"

"If they don't stop, then we know that the goblins have other motives to break into Hogwarts. Which at this point, I doubt."

Everyone was silent as they mulled this over. For Rose, she had never even considered that their motives _were_ important. She had never tried to think as if she was inside their heads.

It was Ginny who spoke up next, her fingers running through her short, red hair, pulling at her temples.

"Let's work this out logically," she said. "There were three major requests made at the Summit. The first was wand rights, which also granted the goblins citizenship. The second was goblin representation in the Ministry for Magic, which Gladstone agreed to and ultimately allowed the goblins to bring down the Ministry from within. The third was to control Gringotts, which they have now taken by force."

"They got everythin' they bleedin' wanted, didn't they?" Hagrid growled gruffly.

"Well, it would seem that way, but it doesn't explain _why_ the goblins are trying to break into Hogwarts—if that is in fact what they're doing."

"We have another piece of information," Bill Weasley frowned, placing his hands together on the table. Everyone turned their attention to his grizzly, sombre face. "I don't know whether it is important or not—but this week, we were in touch with Charlie in Romania. At our last meeting, we mentioned that they rescued a goblin that works for the King and he's been feeding them information."

"How can you be certain that he is trustworthy?" Minerva McGonagall asked, her wrinkled mouth turning as thin as a string.

A few people around the table murmured their shared concern.

Bill shrugged, clearing his throat gruffly to regain their attention. "We don't. He could be lying. We have no proof. But whether he's lying or not, he is feeding us information, and its worth asking why."

"What information?"

"He's told them that the King wants a Philosopher's Stone."

"That's ridiculous."

"A _Philosopher's Stone_?"

"If he _is_ lying, what advantage is it to the goblins that we think their King is looking for a Philosopher's Stone?"

"There's no Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts," Harry said, his tone dull. "There isn't a Stone anywhere in the world."

There was a gentle knock and Hermione sat up, her eyes now alert as they darted from her watch to the door.

"Oh, they're early."

It was impressive that up until this point, Rose had kept her cool. At least, _she_ was impressed with herself. She hadn't interrupted with questions. She had not made any demands. In what was a performance of her maturity, she sat between the boys and observed, listening, drinking in all the new information, all the plans. It was only when Orlick arrived did the hairs on her arms stand on end.

Rose had grown up around goblins. They handled her family's Gringotts vault; they occasionally worked alongside her parents at the Ministry. When she was a child, she never really thought much about them. They were _different_ from her—clearly, with their long taloned fingers and short statures and glittering black eyes—but that difference was unseen. They blended into the margins of invisibility.

Now, when she saw a goblin, she wanted to reach for her wand. She wanted to plummet them with curses. It was an instinctual reaction. She had flashbacks to Romnuk's voice over the radio, or heads strung up on signposts, or Meredith's hot blood running through the back of her shirt. She saw a goblin, and she saw the enemy.

Both Albus and Scorpius were just as tense—Albus' shoulders had bunched up and she could almost feel the muscle working in Scorpius' neck. But Rose was visibly on guard—she half stood in her seat, crouching, like a tiger preparing to strike, and she slipped her wand from her robes.

"I think everyone here knows Orlick," Hermione said, gesturing to him as he stepped through the door, along with a man who had basset hound eyes. "He came to most of our Order meetings last year. You two didn't have any trouble getting here?"

"The Portkey Doorway you set up is still going strong," the man said, conjuring up two chairs. "No trouble from Diagon Alley either."

As the goblin dragged back his chair, sliding into the seat that was too high off the ground for him, Rose suddenly reached for her wand. She half stood, and Scorpius grabbed her wand hand under the table. She yanked it free.

"What is he doing here?" she said, between clenched teeth.

Orlick sighed, very jadedly. "It is not the first time I have inspired this reaction."

"Orlick is on our side, Rose," Ron urged patiently.

"No," Rose said. "No, he shouldn't be on the grounds."

Ron began to protest, but Albus added, "I don't like this either."

As Hermione moved to stand, Orlick raised his long, gaunt hand to stop her. Rose realised by the crinkles around his black, beady eyes that he was much older than she first thought.

"I think I should explain who I am and why I am here, to dispel any myths in the children's minds."

Rose bristled at the word children, but she kept her mouth shut. Slowly, she lowered herself back into her chair.

"I understand that at this school the goblins are studied, but how much do you three know about the Goblin's monarchic system?"

"You choose your Kings," Scorpius said, almost as if he were in a classroom answering the teacher. "Everyone in the goblin kingdom must work, and the King is selected because he works the hardest."

"Correct," Orlick said, smiling, but with his mouth closed. "Royalty is earned, not something one is born into. The best metalsmith is crowned after the death of the previous Monarch. The King selects who will replace him, then ensures that this subject is trained to be the best, so that he can take over once the King dies."

"We don't need a history lesson," Scorpius said coldly.

"But I think you do. Surely, you have heard of Morgana the Morose. She was our greatest metalsmith, and the King selected her to be the next for the throne—yet, a female goblin cannot be made the ruler of our Kingdom. Traditionally, the title goes to her next of kin. Morgana has two brothers, neither who would be decent rulers.

"The King chose to hide Morgana while he dealt with the public's revolts, but her brothers broke into the royal quarters and killed the King. The eldest took the throne, as he was supposed to as the next of kin. We formed a resistance, of course," Orlick said, touching his chest with his long fingers, "but _we_ were overthrown, Morgana was imprisoned, and those defecators who survived—like myself—were forced to move to the wizarding world, to find work here."

"So that's who you are," Albus said, still quite rudely. "A defector. A member of the defeated resistance."

Orlick gestured to all the faces gathered around the table, then smiled his tight-lipped smile once more.

"To me, it looks as if the resistance is still alive. Where there is a spark, there will be fire."

"Orlick," Hermione said, leaning across the table, "you would know better than us. Where do we need to strike first?"

"We strike Gringotts, Diagon Alley," he said. "This is the goblin's heart, their home away from the mountain. And I have a good sense of how to get inside of it."

* * *

They sat high up in the Astronomy Tower, where the stars were shrouded with misty clouds, hiding just enough from them. The air was cool and fresh after the stuffiness of the staffroom. Rose stretched her legs out, the cool stone under her thighs making her feel like a sandstone affixture, a cold granite gargoyle, ugly and weather worn.

Tucked up with his knees under his chin, Albus was uncharacteristically withdrawn. Even Scorpius seemed keener than he did to talk, and that wasn't saying much. They were all digesting, staring out at the grounds, gazing at the little lights in Hogsmeade, thinking about the Order meeting.

Finally, after a long silence, Rose offered, "More tactics than you'd think, wouldn't you?"

"Not really," Scorpius replied shortly. "I mean, I expected them to have tactics."

A long silence again, the clouds meandering by like lost sheep in the dark. Somewhere, an owl was hooting quietly, maybe venturing out to hunt. Albus wasn't looking at either of them, his expression drawn and puzzled, his knees pulled up to his chin.

They had ended the meeting by briefly discussing an evacuation plan—that in the event of the goblin gangs breaching Hogwarts' defences, they would evacuate through what everyone called the Portkey Doorway (although her mother had explained to Rose that the magic was hardly similar to what a Portkey could do at all) and then seal the exit once everyone was in Diagon Alley. The goblins didn't know that they had found a way to circumvent the siege, to get in and out of Hogwarts as needed. But this plan was unlikely. Everyone who had stayed on the grounds—students and Hogsmeade residents alike—were here by choice, in order to fight. They would defend Hogwarts until it burned.

"I don't understand the Philosopher's Stone thing," Rose said slowly, shaking her head. "Why would they be after a Stone?"

"Probably for the gold," Scorpius answered, almost reflexively, as if he were in an Alchemy lesson. "The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. A goblin's dream, I suppose."

"Surely the King has enough gold though."

"Is it possible to make another Stone?" Rose asked.

Scorpius pulled a face, one that suggested that he thought very little of the idea. "Unlikely. Since Flammel, no one has been able to do it."

"What do you think Albus?" Rose said, turning to him.

"I don't understand how we're involved in this," Albus said, gazing up at the shy constellations. "I mean, this entire thing started before we were even born because of some chauvinist goblin who didn't want his sister to rule their mountain. Why do we matter?"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"The prophecy, I suppose."

"But even the prophecy makes no _sense_. Why us? Why are we the children of enemies united?"

Rose shook her head hopelessly. Even though she was daft to the average human's emotional spectrum, she had noticed Albus getting less and less keen on this battle. He had been the least vocal when they asked Harry to join the Order, and whenever they saw him, he only ever spoke about superficial distractions. Rose couldn't stand dancing around it any longer.

"What's the matter?"

"You can't just pose that question anymore. Not when everything's the way it is."

"But something's palpably wrong, Albus! It's like you've utterly lost interest in fighting."

He stood, unfurling his curled up limbs, his dark hair falling over his eyes, already moving to leave. Rose seized his sleeve, trying to keep him put, but yanking the fabric back to reveal the long, dark scabs up his arms.

"Bloody hell, Albus! Are you—are you cutting yourself?"

Her cousin yanked his arm back, looking peeved. "Hardly."

"So those scars magically appeared on your wrist then?" Scorpius asked tersely.

"Don't be a muppet, Malfoy."

Scorpius was so taken aback by this retort that he only mouthed wordlessly for a moment. Since her partner was speechless, Rose had to take the diplomatic route herself, something she was never very good at. She adopted a tender tone.

"Is this trauma related? Are you not coping with the siege?"

"Oh—please. I'm coping better than _you_."

"It's not because Imogen left, is it?"

The look Albus gave her was murderous.

"Okay, so it's _not_ because of Imogen. Is there a particular reason then?"

"You two have your secrets, I have mine," Albus said haughtily.

"That's it. Scorpius, read his mind."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a Legilimens, aren't you? Read his mind."

"It's not as simple as _reading_ his mind, Rose. Anyway, that's an invasion of privacy."

"Thank you, Scorpius."

"Oh, be quiet. You called me a muppet."

They stood there for a moment, squaring off.

"I have different priorities to you both," he said, a little colder than necessary. "I'm not thick. I know you're making plans without me—"

"We're not—"

"I _know_ , alright? So I've been preparing too. In my own ways."

He didn't pause to keep arguing. He left, his footfalls fast down the spiral staircase. The two Slytherins were left behind, the stars blinking sadly at them from behind the clouds. They were left wondering, too, how they were possibly the ones supposed to fight this battle.

* * *

Isabella had fallen into the habit of pacing back and forth in her bedroom, while making intense, rousing inspirational speeches. This was the sort of thing she imagined Scorpius would do, so it always left her feeling pleasantly flushed—an odd yet guilty pleasure, like she was exercising some great faculty of her brain.

The content of these speeches were really rather stupid, often lacking in the detailed minutiae needed for stirring political commentary, or for a motivating pep talk. They were filled with empty platitudes like, "we have to stand together or refuse to stand for anything at all," and "this is the moment we were made to prove ourselves," and other such nonsense that she pretended she understood, that she put on like clothes, because Isabella had never been in a duel, she had never fought an enemy, she had never risked her life. So she had to practice, to play pretend.

It was a good distraction from the fact she had not heard a word from her parents since they had left the country, or that Scorpius rarely had time for her in the last few weeks of the summer, or that she and Zabini only ever shared stiff words, or that James was hatching out of his shell-shock and she was the last person in the world that he wanted to speak to. Making speeches to imaginary crowds and armies distracted from how very little attention Isabella had in her life, how very little she seemed to matter to anyone, and how very much she clung to the desperate belief that fighting this battle would make her life mean something bigger than what it was.

Isabella had fallen into the habit of making speeches, and it was to her great embarrassment that she was caught in the act, while avidly extolling her propped up pillow.

"Well, you've almost moved me to tears," Alice said, placing a hand to her heart.

Isabella spun to face her, very pink, utterly deflated.

"It's fine, Nott. We all have our kinks."

"This isn't my kink," she defended.

Alice crossed the room, taking her pyjamas out of a drawer. She stripped off her shirt, dropping it on the dresser and sliding her singlet over her flat chest. "I don't really care what your kink is," Alice said, climbing into her shorts.

Isabella sat on her bed, grabbing her propped up pillow and hugging it to her chest. She tucked her fringe behind her ears, as it was long enough now to brush the tip of her nose. Her roommate sat on the floor opposite her, legs stretched out and crossed, hands behind her head as she leaned against the four post bed.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. When there was no answer forthcoming, Alice added, "Why are you talking to yourself like a lunatic?"

Maybe it was because she had no one to confide in, and Isabella desperately needed a confidante, that she spilled her guts, the words gushing up. That there was no one left who cared about her, that she was all alone, that she needed to feel like she was exercising _some_ control over her life.

All of this bubbled up, no reservations in her confession. Alice watched her unblinking until she was done.

"If you feel like having some control, we can go do a night raid on all the younger kids. We're the seventh years now."

"We're not the seventh years. And no one is doing a night raid."

Rose was at the door now, arms crossed, her auburn red hair as wild and matted as ever. There was a spark in her eyes, a dangerous look. Alice still felt no fear, quick to question her.

"We're all that's left of the seniors now. We can do what we want."

"It's not that simple," Rose said. She crossed her freckled arms. "I'll explain after the Welcome Feast."

"What welcome feast?" Alice demanded. Rose walked by her, grabbing the Chudley Cannons t-shirt she slept in. She yanked off her clothes and pulled her pyjama shirt on, tugging it over her mane of hair. Alice followed her, persistently. "Rose— _what_ welcome feast? There aren't going to be any new first years. There will be no feast-"

"It was the instructions I was given, okay? I dunno how it works, but I can't explain until after the first of September."

Both the girls stood now, wide-eyed and alarmed. Rose was keeping information from them. Possibly vital information. She was squirming under their looks. She picked up Isabella's brush and attempted to drag it through her hair. This would have usually annoyed Isabella, but she was too attentive to mind.

"What do you know that you're not telling us?"

"I can't say anything, okay? If I could, I would. You know me, I hate keeping anything to myself. But as soon as I can tell you, I will."

"Who died and made you Merlin?" Alice scoffed, a little annoyed.

Rose threw the brush down with a clatter, clumped with her hair in the bristles, causing both girls to draw away slightly as they prepared for an outburst. Instead, Rose gently fingered her matted mane and sighed. "I think I just need to cut it."

"Pardon?" Isabella blinked.

"I won't ever get these tangles out. I even tried a spell earlier but I think it made it worse."

In the months of her depression, Rose had not washed or combed or groomed her hair at all. It had become an unmanageable mess, one that always gave Isabella a bit of anxiety to look at. It needed to have been properly conditioned, perhaps even with an overnight serum, but it was too late for that. The idea of having to cut so much hair off—curly, unruly hair at that—made her heart skip.

"I think you should wait to see a hairdresser," she said, due to her panic.

Both girls looked at her, so that she realised her stupidity a few seconds too late. Rose fumbled around in the dresser drawers until she pulled out a pair of very sharp scissors, handing them over her shoulder to Alice. She didn't even pause to argue, but took them, and squared off behind Rose's shoulders.

"Wait!" Isabella cried. "Don't do it!"

"You're right, it'll make a mess," Alice replied, sarcasm curling her smile as she snatched up one of Isabella's silk pyjama robes and draped it around Rose loosely like a hairdresser's gown.

"Oh, are you sure about this Rose?" Isabella pressed, her anxiety growing, not even caring about the robe. "Your hair will look so strange short—won't it just frizz up like a little orange afro? Oh, I really don't think you should be doing this—Alice, _wait—_ on gosh, that's _so_ short. That's above her shoulders—hold on—hold on!"

Alice paused, tongue between her teeth, the scissors splayed open between another tangled dreadlock.

"I can't concentrate with you blathering, Isabella."

"At least let me do it then," she replied hotly, pushing Alice out of the way and taking over.

It was definitely the worst haircut anyone had ever been given, with exception perhaps to the portrait of a witch on the forth flour with incredibly tight ringlets and a very short fringe. Isabella did her best to try and thin Rose's hair, to cut down on the volume of it, but she knew she wasn't doing a particularly good job. Still, Rose was hardly fretting. Chunks of red hair floated down onto her mustard tee-shirt, and she never said a word. When she finally spoke, it had nothing to do with her new hairstyle.

"What would you do if you thought someone you cared about was hurting themselves?"

The pain on Rose's face made Isabella think immediately of James, who she had fallen completely out of the habit of speaking to. It made her anxiety gnaw more vigorously than ever.

But it was Alice who offered the solution, calm and matter-of-fact, while she dusted the hair off Rose's shoulders.

"You tell them they can talk to you about anything, in confidence. That nothing is off limits. And that you will be just as open. And then you listen non-judgementally to whatever they have to say."

She whipped the robe off of Rose and handed it back to Isabella, but not before extracting her wand to Vanish off the loose hair.

The three leaned in to survey their reflections in the mirror, where they were framed at various heights, faces pale in the greenish light of the underwater windows and half-lit lanterns. Rose's hair stopped just on her shoulders, floating there in clean, blunt strokes. It was uneven, but not as bad as Isabella had expected it to look. Alice and Isabella's hands rested on either of Rose's shoulders, and they peered for a moment longer, looking past their complexions, searching for something beyond the glass.

Rose turned away, craning over her shoulder to look at their actual faces, the distilled originals. She smiled weakly, lips pulled tight.

"I'm glad it's us three left in here," she said. Then, to break the sentimentality, she stood and dusted her hands through her short curls. "Thanks. I'm going to go have a shower and wash my hair properly. It needs it."

They watched her stroll away, arms swinging loosely at her sides. Alice huffed and kicked at the pile of hair on the floor, picking up her wand and giving it a quick swish to send it into the bin.

"Of course, it's _our_ job to clean up."

Isabella beat her robe out a few times before sliding it on, the cool silk making her skin feel glossy and new. It had been a gift from her mother for her sixteenth birthday. The collar of the robe was made from Puffskein fur and was very expensive. It seemed so silly to be wearing it now—like she had outgrown it in a single year, but not because she had gotten any taller.

She opened her eyes to find Alice much too close, her dark fringe falling across her face, making it hard to read her expression. For a moment, Isabella flinched back, gripping the silk cuffs of her robe, expecting maybe a taunt or even a physical jab. But Alice only reached up to press her cold finger gently against Isabella's cheek, just under her eye, beside her piggish nose, drawing away a ticklish strand of Rose's red hair. She grinned and let it fall to the ground.

"Wouldn't want Essence of Weasley stuck to your face," she joked.

Isabella laughed, brushing her fingers over her neck to make sure there were no strands still stuck to her. Her roommate had already moved on from the moment and was climbing into bed, tucking her wand under her mattress in a way that Isabella decided she ought to imitate. She also got into bed, dimming the lights while she and Alice listened to the running shower in their dormitory bathroom.

In the greenish dim of the night, Alice's voice said—a little sardonic, but less so than usual—"We have to stand together or refuse to stand for anything at all," before erupting into a surprising giggle.

Isabella needed to get out of the habit of making speeches.

* * *

It was the first day of August, the summer air balmy and warm, the sky cloudless, the lake a crystal blue that bounced back the tree line along the shore. Rose met Scorpius early that morning, in the boy's bathrooms, where they slid down into the Chamber of Secrets and sat silently in the small, echoing space that Scorpius used for potions practice. It was painful to make the decent; when the last time Rose had been down here she had been with Meredith. Her fingers clung to the rungs, as if she didn't want to let go of them.

"Are you ready?" Scorpius asked, as the trapdoor above them slid back over their only light source.

Rose nodded. They were pitched into darkness now—Scorpius had no cauldrons on fires, and they didn't light their wands. It was dark, so dark that she was frightened for a moment. Her eyes began to adjust, to make grainy shadows in the dark.

She felt a spell fly at her—silent, sudden—from the other side of the room. She dodged it. In that moment, she knew briefly where Scorpius was, but then he was gone again, moving too fast for her to aim a non verbal spell back.

It was cold and damp and dark, and they spend their first morning of August deep in the bowls of the school, beneath the dungeons, under the lake, duelling. When Rose finally disarmed him, they stopped.

After collecting it off the floor, Scorpius lit his wand and moved towards Rose, panting hard. The beam waved dizzyingly in his loose grip, making the wet walls sparkle. He leaned forward and brushed her short hair through his fish-bone fingers.

When Rose had caught her breath, she asked him, "Do you like it?"

"A good change," he said, and it was a testament to their relationship that Scorpius—obsessed with orderliness and neatness—did not comment on how uneven it was, or how blunt the bottom of her hair was. Instead, he pulled her in and hugged her tightly. Rose felt her body relax and she hugged him back, arms wound around his torso. She wanted to cry, could feel it brimming near the surface.

She broke away, gulping down a deep breath, but Scorpius seemed to read her mind. In fact, he may have done so.

"I'm worried about Al," he said.

"Me too."

"I think we shouldn't confront him like we did. We need to be a bit more sensitive now that he—if he's doing what we think he's doing."

Rose nodded, but she still felt lost. Not too long ago, this would have been an adult's problem. What she wished, more than anything, was to be in the summer before her fifth year. The last summer where her ignorance and innocence had still been in tact. Where she and Albus and their siblings had thrown around a Quaffle in the warmth of the sun, bathing in that warmth, only leaving when it turned to dusk. Where they had tea with their parents, who still disguised the reality of the world from them, kept them safe and sheltered.

She hadn't really known Scorpius back then though. She hadn't known who he was beyond the droll insults and the awkward body language and his obsession with his studies. She hadn't reconciled the turbulence of their first year, or formed such a strong friendship with him yet.

He was the only really good thing that had happened to her in the last two years, and she was grateful for it. Whatever would come next, she knew they would both make it out the other end intact.

* * *

 **A/N: Happy Easter everyone! Please consider my typos a gift to you, because I didn't have a lot of time to proof read.**

 **Thanks for everyone's encouragement. Even if I haven't responded to your review personally, I have read all of them.**


	3. Chapter Two

—CHAPTER TWO—

Teddy had an awful suspicion that he was being followed.

When he had first gone into the town to buy a few burn pastes from the Apothecary, he hadn't noticed anything. It was only when a beautiful flying carpet had distracted him, stalling him for a good few minutes, that he realised someone at least ten paces behind him had stopped at the exact same moment, feigning interest in a flower peddler.

Teddy then took an absurd route back to the Sanctuary to see whether this person was following him, and quickly confirmed that he was. He kept ten paces behind him, no matter how he changed his pace. Without the security of a crowd, he was scared to turn and confront him. They were in the middle of nowhere; the rolling Transylvanian hillsides made the figure more minatory than he normally may have been—he was shorter than Teddy, a small man, wearing a light headscarf that covered his lower face and a pair of black gloves that made no sense in the heat, and most peculiarly, which had two gold bands around the thumbs.

If this man was dangerous, it would be a disservice to lead him right into the Sanctuary, so despite his own nerves, Teddy pulled his wand and turned to face him.

"About time," the man said, lowering his scarf.

Teddy didn't recognise him. In fact, there was nothing familiar about his face. He stood there, cradling the paper bag full of potions in one arm and his wand held slackly in the other. It took him a moment before he understood the two gold rings on the man's thumbs.

"Reid," Teddy said, his face falling. This was not the first time that the former Unspeakable had followed him. "Rather boorish of you to just show up on another continent and stalk me, isn't it?"

"You're needed," Reid said, raising his eyebrows. "Surely you knew this would be coming."

These words made Teddy uneasy. Being trained in espionage had never really been his idea—just an inevitable attachment to his physical adaptability. And while he had been speaking Gobbledegook so frequently with Venn that he had perfected his accent, he had a feeling he couldn't sustain the disguise of a goblin nearly as well as Reuben Reid could. In fact, he had wiped this unpleasant man completely from his memory, preferring to pretend he didn't exist.

"I think we ought to go and talk," Reid said.

They nestled into the Dragon Sanctuary's barn, which was strung up with handler equipment like odd chandeliers. Shafts of light cut through the dusty air. Evidence that Venn had been here was still palpable, with one of the metal breastplates of a dragon lying on the long workbench.

"I'm not sure how much Charlie has told you about what the Order's been up to—"

"I know enough," Teddy said, carefully

"I highly doubt you know enough, Lupin," Reid growled, his voice strange in such a shrunken body. "I think you should keep your trap shut until I finish catching you up to speed."

He was very conscious of his paper bag of potions. There was a burn paste that Victoire needed after startlingly Firecracker, the Chinese Fireball. There was a sleeping potion that would help Selima rest following a particularly difficult full moon. There were deliveries he had to make, people he loved who needed help—he didn't have time for this.

"I've been spying on the goblins in Hogsmeade, pretending to be one of their own, and amassing a lot of information. I was only successful for about a month before one of the goblins tipped Romnuk off. We need someone else to go undercover."

Teddy heaved a tired sigh, as if he was a schoolteacher addressing a truanting student. "How'd they figure you out?"

"The goblin I was impersonating came back."

"Came back?"

"They discovered his actual body. Or, at least, the parts I was unable to destroy."

Teddy winced. He was keenly reminded as to why he hated Reuben Reid so much.

"When they realised I was an imposter, Romnuk poisoned me."

His eyebrows shot up to his scruffy blue hair. Immediately, his eyes darted to the black gloves that Reid was wearing. Pretending not to notice this, the spy went on in his recount.

"All the information I've amassed leads to one thing—the gangs are planning to finally turn against the Goblin King. They're going to shirk their unholy alliance, and they're gearing up for a fight. For some reason, Hogwarts will be caught in the crossfires."

Of course, this was what Venn himself had explained. The Kobold Könige wanted to see the King dead, wanted to roll out a militant anarchy. They had been bidding their time. They had killed off the puppet Wizard Government that had danced on their King's strings, and now they were ready to strike.

"And why do you need _me_?"

"Harry needs someone to go in and find out why they're trying to dig their way into Hogwarts."

Teddy felt the blood drain from his face. This wasn't some easy mission. This wasn't pushing papers at a desk in the Ministry while impersonating a goblin. This would be infiltrating the inner-circle of a gang, one where all the members were known, one where he would have to do terrible things in order to just get into the group. He clutched the paper bag to his chest for a moment and took a deep shaky breath. He had once stood on the steps of Gringotts, yelling for change, stirring up protest. He had once gone looking for a fight. But without the anger there, Teddy had no fight in him. He had no hatred. Not even for Romnuk the Rough.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think I'm your man for the job."

He stood and began to make his way out of the barn, bundling the package of potions like a baby on his hip. Reid followed him, squinting at they returned to the blinding sunlight.

"You're the only man for the job, Lupin."

"It's not going to happen. I'm sorry. I have responsibilities here. I have people I need to look after."

Persistently, Reuben Reid followed him all the way to the Opal Eye enclosure, where Victoire and Krishna were filing down the claws of their young Opal Eye, who they had fondly named Jem. He loved the girls, got snappy whenever he was around any of the male handlers, so Teddy kept his distance. With a quick whistle, he caught both women's attention, then motioned to the bag.

Victoire jogged over, unwrapping a bandage on her arm as she went. "Thank you, lovely," she said, weaving out from the barrier and kissing Teddy quickly on the lips. She took the potion he had already opened up for her and began to spread the paste on the burn across her bicep. Teddy hated it when she got hurt, and her scar count was growing, but he secretly loved the way her skin looked once they had healed—tattoos of her own sort to match his in ink.

"Who's this?" she said.

"Reid. An Order member."

Reid didn't say anything. He just scanned Victoire's face until she turned to Teddy and offered a smile. "I may have another go riding Jem this afternoon. Oh, Charlie wanted me to tell you that Selima is sleeping in his cabin."

"Got you," he said, leaning forward to kiss her quickly once more. "Don't go poking any dragons."

"Would I ever?" she said, giving a final uncertain look to Reid before ducking back into the enclosure.

They began to make their way back towards the cabin, the brown paper package of potions resting on Teddy's hip as they walked. They past a few of the other groundskeepers on the way, that all sang greetings in their own language.

"Is she the reason you don't want to leave?"

"Hmm?" Teddy glanced at Reid, annoyed he hadn't left yet.

"You want to stay for the girl?"

"My wife," Teddy corrected, his exasperation growing. "And she's not the only reason. I'm a bit more multifaceted than that."

Reid growled a response that Teddy couldn't make out, so he chose to ignore him as they continued through the cooler thicket of trees on the outset of the grounds, leading quickly to Charlie's cottage. Selima was outside, crouched in front of the vegetable patch, plucking tomatoes. They were ripe and thick skinned, red as apples, plush in her brittle hands.

"You should be inside, trying to sleep," he said as he got nearer.

She tapped the side of her temple, finger crooked at the joints, eyes a little watery, the way someone who had addled too much with potions may behave. She stood slowly, drawing the bunch of tomatoes close to her chest. "Migraine," she croaked, smiling weakly. "Terrible migraine."

"Get out of the sunlight then," Teddy frowned, opening the cottage door with his hip and letting her in.

Perhaps seeing his hands were full, or noticing the condition Selima was in, Reid took the parcel off Teddy, a kindness that surprised him, and fished around in it to find the sleeping draught. He took it over to the kettle and used his wand to set it boiling. Without asking him what he was up to, Teddy helped Selima settle back into the sofa bed. Her dreadlocks had been plaited down her back, away from her face.

"Did you do this?" he asked, touching her heavy hair.

She smiled weakly and shook her head. "Charlie did."

"Cute," Teddy acknowledged.

"Who's that bloke?"

"Order member. A nobody."

"Trying to steal you away, is he?" she said, lowering her voice, but her words were clumsy and carried into the kitchen.

"With little avail," Reid replied, returning with a mug of warm milky water. He passed it to Selima. "Sleeping draughts work faster when they're heated."

"Good tip," she said, smiling weakly. She sipped at the mug, her shoulders hunched forwards. Even holding her own weight up on the bed seemed to look painful. Teddy ran his fingers through her hair, wishing her affliction away, wishing he could hide the moon from her. As his fingers trailed through her hair for a third time, Selima's drowsy eyelids fluttered to a close.

"She's a werewolf, I'm guessing?"

"Yep," Teddy said, a little stiff. He had to stop himself from adding, _and probably the last left from England_.

He was still resentful toward Reid, for the part he had played in Gladstone's Ministry, but he himself couldn't shift all the blame. Even Teddy had propped up the arguments that had led to the eradication of Squibs and Werewolves. It was hard to go pointing fingers when even his hands were stained.

He turned back to Reid, ready to finally tell him to sod off, that the answer was no, that he wasn't changing his mind, when he noticed that the other man was peeling off his black gloves. His hands were a sickly, dark green, the skin mottled, the veins engorged. It was awful, like revealing a dead thing, unwrapping a mummy. Teddy almost flinched. Even Selima's scaling, scared skin was less execrable.

Reid smiled coldly, sliding the two gold rings off the black gloves and pocketing them for safekeeping. "I can't wear them on my skin anymore," he said, wincing. "Such a shame too."

"That's from the poison?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"My feet and my hands," he said, chuckling. "It'll work its way from my extremities up to my organs, and then I will die. Not very pleasant, is it?"

They had chosen to let him die slowly—surely in line with their ideas of punishment, their gradual tortures. What didn't make sense is that Reid had information, and they had still let him go. It was done purposefully. They had sent him back with these fatal wounds as a warning, as a suggestion that this would happen to the next one. And clearly, they didn't care if the wizards and witches left in England knew what their plans were. Teddy felt the heat climb in his neck.

"Look—Reid—I know that you all think me to be your last hope for surveillance but I don't think I'd—"

The door open and they both started over their shoulders. The owner of the cottage had just arrived, slinging off his dragon-hide apron and hanging it behind the door. Charlie surveyed them both, unsurprised to see Reuben Reid, taking in his crippled hands first, then his malleable face.

"I suppose we're turning my cottage into a hospice then," he said, smiling with tight lips.

"I was expecting a bit more benevolence from you, Charlie."

"I think letting you come here is benevolent enough," he replied, barking out a laugh. He scooped up the tomatoes scattered on the side table and took them to the kitchen. "Teddy, I think it best you take a walk. I want a word with Reid."

Teddy didn't need to be told twice. He was grateful to leave. He was hoping to put Reid's proposition behind him. To pretend that he had no business in the spy games the Order was playing. To pretend he had no allegiance in this. He wanted to remain in the Sanctuary, where he could take care of Selima, where he could learn from Venn, where he could spend all his days and evening with his wife, where he could be certain they were safe. But they had found him, turned over the rock under which he had been hiding.

He toyed with not telling Victoire. There was still quite a lot he had not told her, that he had not gone into details about. He didn't want to shake the hard-fought for equanimity they had secured together on this foreign soil. He didn't want to slip back into the person he was before—before he had met his father in the Pensieve, before he had fought for the Order, before he had lost Victoire. He didn't want to return back to that place, that headspace, the man he was then, fuelled by anger and desperation.

Teddy knew though that this couldn't last. That one of them—either Victoire or himself—would be pulled back into the battle, back into the thick of things. He knew that if he denied this opportunity, another would come to claim his wife. And he was terrified of the moment, of the day when she would choose to fight over staying safe, when she would choose to leave him again.

He wasn't sure how he could bear it.

* * *

From where it was hidden on Charring Cross Road, the Leaky Cauldron was only a short seven-minute walk to Convent Garden, if you knew to cut past Wyndham's Theatre and take the short cut. It was resplendent during the summer, with young families enjoying school holidays and tourists mulling about the craft markets and opera singers standing in the square's corners, their warbling falsettos carrying through the street.

While the younger members of the Order stationed in the Leaky Cauldron were periodically sent to Convent Garden, it was no longer such a novelty. At first, when the task was given to them, they clambered eagerly to be the delegates escaping for an hour or two into Muggle London, where their turmoil was limited to traffic jams. It was a fresh of breath air, a short interlude before they returned to the dreary squalor of living in a blockaded street.

However, when they realised that a battle was being planned, that the Order was making strategies, they were less eager to be torn away from their commanders in chief, wasting time out in a world that was shut off from their own desperate struggles. It was Molly Weasley's least favourite chore to do, but knowing how important it was that she pull her weight, she never complained.

"You must be in a rush to get back," Fred acknowledged, having to almost job to keep pace with her as they wove through their shortcut past Wyndham's Theatre. He had to stride twice as long to catch up with Molly's pace.

"They're talking strategy today," Molly said. "Aren't you keen to get back?"

Molly had lost some of her previous edgy allure. Without a supply of hair care potions, her red roots were reappearing on top of her bleach blonde hair and the remnants of black nail polish had long been chipped off. She was wearing someone else's oversized trousers and tee-shirt—they had raided the apartment blocks on their end of Diagon Alley for any provisions, including clean clothing. Life in rebellion was not glamorous, but while she was living in the Leaky Cauldron, she never seemed to notice. It was only out on the streets of Muggle London, where people gave her sketchy looks in passing, did she feel acutely aware of how homeless she looked.

They crossed to Convent Garden, making their way to the food stalls that they usually targeted, and stealing their way around the back. Fred cast a quick look around before aiming his wand at the man at the front of the stall and Confuding him.

They weren't stealing; she always had to reassure herself. If they could have access to Gringott's bank, they could get their hands on muggle money. Using a Doubling Charm to source food from the muggles was their only means of survival. And they were just copies, after all—less tasty, less nutritious imitations of the vegetables and bread and jam jars on the counter. Food that also spoiled much faster than if it were the original, meaning they had to return to various markets in London every second day to source more, and stash it the bag with its Undetectable Extension Charm.

They were about to close up the bag when Molly caught the large brown eyes of a girl—about eight—standing beside her mother, short enough to see where they were hiding beneath the counter. Molly froze for a moment, wand in hand, heart jumping. Had she spotted the doing magic? From their vantage point, they could only see the girl's mother from her hips down. But there was a chance that this curious child had seen them producing their Doubling Charms. There was no Ministry to enforce a Statue of Secrecy anymore, but they had to be all the more careful—the last thing they needed was a new pandemic of fear, a new set of nervous enemies aiming their own terrifying weapons. Molly raised her wand preparing to Obliviate the girl if need be, but she only smiled at Molly impishly, pulling a plastic stick with a glittery star on the end out of her yellow backpack, and giving it a swirl through the air. A second later, her mother's hand found the girl's and pulled her along.

"I think we should try a greengrocer, too. We need fruit," Fred murmured.

Molly had to shake her head, breaking the spell caused by that little girl's gaze. Hear heart ached painfully in her chest. It had been so long since she had seen Lucy, her younger sister. It had been over a year since she had last seen her, or her parents. She wouldn't be a little girl anymore.

"Oi, Molly, have Nargles got in your ears? I said, should we get some fruit?"

"We've got enough," Molly said, dragging the bag's strap over her shoulder. "Let's go back."

Fred clucked his tongue but followed her. They smiled benignly as they passed the still Confunded stall owner, and shuffled quickly past a group of tourists.

"You always take heaps longer when you're partnered with Rowan on these things."

Molly pulled a face, annoyed by the comment. "No I don't."

"I'm not blaming you, Mol. He's a cute bloke."

"That's also beside the point."

They made short work of the walk back, cutting street corners and jaywalking recklessly through traffic. By the time they arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron, the pub was quiet and attentive, mid way through a meeting led by Bill Weasley. They stood at the back of the room, listening, not wanting to interrupt.

To make the Order functional over such a dispersed space, they had broken into squadrons. Hermione was overall in charge, almost by default since Harry had stepped down, making her the Captain General of sorts. Ron and Harry were her Lieutenant generals. Then, there were Captains for each division. Former Auror Cattermole was the Captain of the Hogsmeade residents, Neville Longbottom was the Captain of the Hogwarts Division and Bill Weasley was the Captain of the Diagon Alley division. Everyone had their own place and rank and person to answer to. It was a necessary chain of command, one that sometimes annoyed Molly, who was finding it harder still to remain in the loop.

"From what the goblins have been willing to tell us, we think Selgrut will retreat in an attack to Vault 717. It's one of the most highly guarded vaults. It's right near the old Lestrange Family vault. We can expect dragon security, not to mention we'll need a goblin with security clearance to get through the door."

"Is that really a problem? We have goblin's in the Order," Cresswell pipped up.

"None that will cooperate with us to help break in," Bill sighed. Molly was one of the many people who tsked in response to this news. "Now, you have to understand that for the goblins, even sharing this information is considered treachery. It goes against everything in their values to help us _break into_ Gringotts."

"But we're all on the same side here, aren't we?"

"It's not the simple."

Dominique had caught her cousins' eyes and was waving them over, her long strawberry blonde plait sliding over her shoulder. Molly and Fred ducked down and wove through the chairs and tables until they had joined their group. Rowan leaned forward, nudging their bag of food with his foot.

"Did you get oranges?"

"No fruit," Fred murmured back, sending a pointed look at Molly. "Someone was in a rush."

Molly sent Rowan a caustic look, silencing the complaint before it came.

"Look—" Bill said, taking command of the room once more. "We have goblin cooperation, we have them even drawing maps for us to make sure we know how to get around. I used to work in Gringotts myself. I'm not too concerned about having a former Gringotts goblin with us. I think that's the least of our obstacles."

"How are we planning to get to Selgrut?" George asked, half raising his hand.

"We'll have squadrons," Bill said. "One to invade the first level and defend, a second smaller group to get underground to the vault. Let's start breaking up into teams now."

Fleur stood, tying her corn silk hair into a ponytail as she did, as if she was about to get down to business. She had also worked alongside Bill in Gringotts, and she was also a fearsome dueller. It was unanimously decided that she would be leading the smaller group into Vault 717, while Bill organised the larger army that had to break through the goblin's first line of defence.

"There's only one way in and out of Gringotts, so I guess the biggest part of the battle will be taking place right through those front doors," Dominique sighed, leaning in on their circular table to talk to the others. It was hard, no matter how they framed it, to shift the thought that they were still on the kid's table. "I suppose that's where we will be."

"Did they set a date for the battle yet?" Fred asked.

Dominique shook her head. "We need to wait until the Polyjuice Potion is brewed."

"The Polyjuice Potion?"

"Bill is going into the battle pretending to be Harry," Dominique supplied. "And mum is going in pretending to be Hermione. At least, that's what mum and dad said to me after their last Order meeting."

The risk involved in this was jarring. Impersonating either Harry or Hermione was a death wish, yet both Bill and Fleur were willing. Dominique had explained it almost casually, despite it meaning that both her parent's were gambling their lives even further. Not for the first time, Molly was filled with a quiet anger towards her parents for going into hiding. She understood that they wanted to protect Lucy, but it didn't feel like enough of an excuse. They all had someone they needed to protect.

"You four," Fleur said, putting her slender hand on the table, in between all their resting elbows. Her eyes darted between them all, forcing them to sit upright. "You will be in my group, ze ones to get to ze Vault."

"Us?" Fred repeated incredulously.

"Do I look like I am talking to someone else?" Fleur replied haughtily. "Ees eet not English zat I am speaking? You will be in ze smaller group with me."

She walked away, waving her wand at a piece of parchment that followed her, a quill darting across the page to list names.

"Oh, Merlin, finally some action," Molly muttered. "I'm so tired of living like this."

"Hey, it's won't be for a while," Rowan warned. "We have a lot to do before then."

Molly didn't care—she couldn't wait. She thought again of the girl in Convent Garden with the plastic fairy wand and the probing, curious eyes that so reminded her of Lucy. The day was coming where this would all be over. The sooner they were in Gringotts the better.

* * *

They had decimated their Quidditch Pitch.

This was devastating news for both Lorcan and James, who no longer had the distraction of the school itself to keep them busy. They had hauled their brooms down to the pitch for what they were hoping would be a few recreational laps and the passing of a Quaffle, to find the entire pitch had been converted into a strange vegetable farm.

This was clearly the work of Hagrid, and while neither of the two young men could begrudge the school for taking necessary survival steps in producing enough sustainable food during a several month long siege, they were both beyond disappointed.

James needed constant distraction—it was the only way his recovery would progress in the right direction. And with a cyanic summer sky above them, getting on a broomstick would be better than a cure.

"Man, I hate bloody living on the grounds," James said, gritting his teeth.

They walked amid the vegetable patches, weaving their way through the dragon dung manure that softened the paludal pitch and stuck to their sneakers.

"If you go to Diagon Alley, though, you'll have to fight," Lorcan said quietly. He had suggested Diagon Alley more times than he could count—now that they were done with their seventh year, Lorcan was _itching_ to go to Diagon Alley and join the rebels there. But he wasn't going to leave James behind. James was his family, his brother—and James was not about to rush into a battle.

"Fat chance of that," he snorted, reaffirming his decision for the thousandth time. He slapped his palm against the handle of his broom. "I want to live long enough to die, thanks."

"At least you're not so suicidal anymore," Loran replied brazenly. With a waggish grin, he selected one of the dark green cabbages from the patch and weighed it in his hand. "C'mon, this looks like a Quaffle. Goal is to keep passing it to each other without dropping it."

"I wouldn't mind a bit of cabbage Quidditch."

Cabbage Quidditch wasn't as disappointing at they thought, and the vegetable served as a decent, if somewhat more slippery, Quaffle. They only stopped when they noticed someone approaching the pitch. At first, they thought it was a teacher, so they stopped playing immediately, worried they were about to get scolded. Instead, they realised it was a girl, and on closer inspection, Isabella Nott.

"Merlin, what does she want?" James muttered as they wheeled their brooms around. Lorcan's mouth twisted to the side, stopping any comments from coming. There was no point poking his mate's bad mood.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Her fringe was stupidly long and kept falling over her eyes. "People are looking for you."

"What have I done now?" James demanded.

"Not you—Scamander. A whole bunch of us were trying to find you."

They hit the edge of the vegetable patch, Lorcan dismounting his broom. Lorcan was surprised to hear it. What had _he_ done now?

"Your parents are here. Lysander has been trying to find you."

Since when had Isabella Nott been on first name terms with Lysander Scamander? The thought had to be dismissed in the more pressing prefix to the announcement. What were Luna and Rolf Scamander doing at Hogwarts?

Lorcan wasn't sure how he felt about this—about his parents being here, after having not seen them for such an extended period, having not even heard a word. They were in the middle of a war, so he tried not to dwell on thoughts that gave oxygen to his animosity, but he was angry at them. He didn't have excuses for them. His parents had never been good parents, not like James' parents were. Luna and Rolf were always travelling, always writing, always exploring; and while this had been fun when the twins were children, coming second to whatever great new project was next on their list was frustrating. They were loving parents, but too often absent. And even as Isabella Nott delivered the news, Lorcan knew with a seed of bitterness germinating in his gut, that they were not here for _him_. They were here for something else, and he was—as always—the after thought.

"Where are they?"

"Meeting with Harry Potter, I think," she said. "But Lysander is waiting for you in the Entrance Hall. I'll have to go tell the others to stop searching for you."

"Yeah, no worries. Thanks Nott," he said, shouldering his broom.

For the first time in a while, James was the one looking anxious. He took a few sludgy steps through the manure to get to Lorcan, but his best friend shook him off.

"It's fine. I'll catch up with you later, okay? Take my broom. Meet you down by Tent City."

They had decimated the Quidditch Pitch, and now they were ruining Lorcan's life. It was an irrational response to the situation, but James was irate. He dropped the cabbage, it's leaves already wilting and bruised from the battering it had taken in the sky.

"Hi," Isabella said.

"Your fringe looks ridiculous."

"I'm growing it out," she said, not a drop of self-consciousness in her voice. He had been expecting that line to annoy her. After a pause, some of her former whininess returned though, with an almost comforting quality. "Are you going to stay mad at me forever?"

"Who said I'm mad at you?" James asked, walking past her. Flecks of dung flew of his shoes. Isabella wrinkled her nose, which tweaked his humour a little. This was not a scenario where one could stop to smell the roses. Like the bottom of his boots, everything was shitty.

"Clearly you are angry at me."

"Don't have any anger in me, Nott. Not even a drop."

He felt something soggy and slightly wet hit him hard in the back of the head. He turned around, outraged and confused, spinning so erratically he almost slipped, to find their Cababge Quaffle lying at their feet.

"Give me Lorcan's broom."

"No."

"Give it to me."

"No," he snapped, pulling it out of her reach. "Get your own."

"Merlin, James—give it to me so we can play some Quidditch you barmy git."

He raised his eyebrows and lowered the broom. "Barmy git?"

"Go on," she said, taking the broom from his hand and throwing a leg over it.

But he couldn't let go of the insult. "Barmy git. _Barmy_ git."

"Mount your broom, you lunatic," she huffed.

He mounted his broom, just as he was told.

They played Quidditch. He had forgotten that Isabella was _good_ at Quidditch. That she had subbed into the Slytherin team. That she flew elegantly, like an acrobat, like a professional—better than a professional, too pretty for professional Quidditch. He eventually stopped passing her the cabbage, just to watch her.

"Teach me to do that," he said, pointing at her broom as she came out of an elegant loop-the-loop.

"Oh, honey, you think these skills can be _taught_?" she asked, battering her lashes at him. Grinning, she dived towards the ground again and he followed her.

"I'm not mad at you," he said, as he got off the broom. He hated doing this part. He hated doing the bit where he talked about how he felt, deep down in his guts, where everything was a coiling mess. He ran his jittery hands through his hair, and Isabella mimicked the action, running her fingers over her long bangs to brush them behind her ears. "I'm not mad at _you_. It wasn't your fault, what happened down at Hogsmeade."

"I should've been there with you," she said, frowning. "Even if I could explain where I was, it wouldn't make it any better."

"I don't need to hear it," James said, shaking his head. There was nothing more to do than sigh and accept his lot in life. To explain. To ease her own burden with the weight of the one he was carrying. "I have rotten luck, you know? There are some people who have all the luck in the world. Like you—you being born to this rich hoity-toity family, with money to spare. Or like Lorcan, was born naturally good looking and charming and great with girls."

"Oh, don't be thick—"

"No, but hear me out. I have _really_ rotten luck, right? Like, not just when I'm gambling. Not just that I lost all my savings to bloody Romnuk the Rough. But that I always end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the Bent-Winged Snitches, both you and Lorcan were there too, yet it was somehow _me_ who got messed up in goblin territory. And down in Hogsmeade, I was supposed to be meeting _you_ for a date, but of course it was just me down there when a bunch of goblins showed up to go on a killing spree. It's not your fault you've never been involved in this shit, Belle. I just have a knack for getting on the wrong side of chance."

"That's bullshit," Isabella snapped, throwing Lorcan's broom back at him. "You can't just throw your hands up and say you're cursed under a cloud of misfortune."

"I'm not being dramatic, it's just _true_."

"No, it's not, James. It's perspective. I reckon that _both_ Lorcan and I think you're bloody well lucky to have parents who love you so much, who are always around, who always want to put you first. I reckon you're lucky you have a family who cares this much, because that's actually not as common as you'd think. And I reckon that you're incredibly lucky to have faced Romnuk the Rough's gang three bloody times and always lived to tell the tale."

It was probably the smartest little speech Isabella Nott had ever said, and she seemed to know it too. She huffed, crossing her arms, as if expecting something. James watched her, his stomach flipping over in response to her words.

That maybe she was right. Maybe it was his perspective. Maybe he was being pessimistic.

And maybe having the Quiddicth pitch turned to a pastoral vegetable patch wasn't as bad as he had originally thought.

* * *

"So, anyone who's wanted to be evacuated has been relocated to Wales, which is our safest bet for now," Rolf had finished explaining, taking Luna's hand to try and regain her attention. They were in the Head Master's office, Neville behind the chair, Ginny perched on the desk corner, Harry standing by the window frame, a little further off than the others.

Luna's protuberant, pale eyes were staring up at the sleeping portrait of Professor Dumbledore, whose glasses had slid down his crooked nose, his beard rising and falling as he breathed. Rolf gave her hand another squeeze.

"Oh, yes, there's another reason why we are here," she said, her eyes turning from Neville to Ginny. "It's about your parents."

"We thought it best if we explain in person. And that way, you can break the news to the rest of your siblings," Rolf went on, clearing his throat.

These words, filled with their thundercloud portent, made Ginny straighten up like a cat with raised shackles. She waited, without saying a word, for what was about to come. Harry was moving towards her, nervously, orbiting closer to her as if he was a moon pulled to its planet, a gentle gravitational loop that set his world in motion. While Ginny had taken his surname, he often felt more like a Weasley than a Potter these days, so deep did his affinity with her family run.

"Your father is really ill," Rolf said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "When we were transporting the last round of evacuees from the Burrow to Wales, he became so ill we couldn't bring him with us."

"What's happened to him?"

"It's just old age and fatigue," Luna said, softer now, and with much more regret. "Arthur stayed behind with your mum. We told them to contact you, but they haven't wanted to, knowing how very busy everyone is with the Order—"

"Is she _mental_? Dad's sick and she won't even drop a note? I'll kill that woman," Ginny muttered, already half standing, moving towards the door as if she was about to put the threat into action. Then she turned back, eyes wide. "How bad is it exactly?"

"Bad enough that we wanted to tell you," Rolf frowned.

"You need to see him, I think," Luna added.

This would have felt like a disaster even if it weren't happening in the middle of their goblin upheaval. Harry could see the look in his wife's eyes, her watery ferocity, that this was now the top priority. The only choice for Harry was to think logically, for if he let himself feel this, he would break down. Arthur and Molly really were his own family too, his own parents by extension.

"We go see them. As soon as possible. We get the family—"

"We can't tell the kids," she said wildly. "I know they'd kill us, but they'll want to come and it's just too hard for so many of us to move incognito."

"Not the kids. We get your brothers, and we go. We see them."

Ginny turned wildly back to Luna, her best friend and the godmother of her children, and clutched her shoulder so tightly she could have snapped her collarbone. "Is it deathbed bad? What if we got him to a hospital?"

"St Mungos isn't operating," Luna said quietly, shaking her head. "No one's there."

"A muggle hospital?"

Luna nodded slowly, her earring bobbling. "If your mother agrees. But Molly is quite stubborn when it comes to Muggle things…"

"Well, she's not the only stubborn one in this family," Ginny said through gritted teeth. She had grabbed Harry by the arm and was already pulling him to the door. "Let's get Ron. We have to go to Diagon Alley, find the others, and get straight to the Burrow."

"I'll go find Ron and Her—oh, bloody hell. Hermione won't be able to come, she has to monitor the Polyjuice Potion—but no, she _has_ to come. We'll need to ask for someone else—can you ask Draco for me please, Neville, to watch it while it brews. Not that I trust him, but hopefully he won't cock this one up."

Luna blinked at Harry in surprise. "Draco Malfoy?"

"It's a long story," Neville muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"Well, I'd like to hear it later on, please. Once Ginny and Harry have departed to see Arthur, of course."

Ginny took Luna's hands tightly in her own, gripping them like vices, locking eyes and holding a very sombre gaze. Luna was just as calm as ever.

"You're staying, aren't you? At Hogwarts? There's no one else left to help escape."

"Of course we're staying," Luna replied, very measured, very matter of fact. "There's a battle to be fought, isn't there? I wouldn't want to miss this one."

Throwing her arms around Luna's shoulders, Ginny squeezed her as tightly as she could. Luna returned the embrace, stroking her hair gently, until finally their respective husbands had to ease their wives away from each other so they could get down to action.

"We better leave. Right now."

* * *

Lorcan always felt odd around his older brother. This strange imitation, stretched out so he was thinner and taller, a lankier build, a longer nose—but the same face, the same eyes, the same curl of blond hair. You could pick them a mile off, a Doubling Charm gone wrong in the womb, a weird Polyjuice Potion experiment that was close by not quite right. His twin, his complete opposite.

Unlike his brother, Lysander was a man of very few words. He was quiet, carefully spoken, a bit too airy for the average conversation, his eyes never finding you when he spoke to you, always off above your head, always pretending to pay attention while his mind was in the clouds.

And this was how he felt inside the unit of his family. Lorcan was a jocular joker, a rough and tumble Quidditch player. He had no appetency for books, or bird watching trips, or absurd dinner guests. He could not withdraw, for hours, into his own head. He was not like his mother or his father or his brother, was so very unlike his twin that he could hardly even express the irritation he felt towards his parents—because he knew Lysander would see it differently.

They watched their parents walk down the marble staircase, speaking to Professor Longbottom, who waved at the twins before parting ways, before heading towards the dungeons, before leaving the family alone for their unexpected reunion.

Their father warmly squeezed them into a hug. Both at the same time, the way he did when they were young, so they almost collided craniums. When he released them, their mother did her usual greeting, where she held them by the shoulders, looked pensively into their face with her penetrating gaze, before hugging them gently.

Lorcan squirmed under her gaze, under the hug too, under it all. He wished Nott hadn't come and found him. He wished he was still down at the cabbage patch, playing a ridiculous version of Quidditch.

"What's the matter," Luna said, taking his chin, holding him under that look. She had a way of piercing him with her pale blue eyes, that wide stare that was impossible to lie to.

"Nothing's the matter," he said, twisting his chin out of her fingers.

"Mm. You're clearly upset with us. Rolf, I think Lorcan is upset."

"Is that true, Lorcan, are you upset?"

Lysander looked at him, surprisingly coherent for once, so he had all three of them staring him down.

"No, I'm not _upset_. It's just been a while, alright? I didn't realise you were coming home."

"Home," Luna repeated, nodding solemnly. "Not that we have one of those anymore."

"We finished up all our business for the Order," Rolf said, a bit too jovially for the tone his son had set. He clapped both the twins on their shoulders. "How about we head down to the tents. What're they calling it now? Tent City?"

The twins followed their parents out into bright afternoon light, heading down the sloping lawn towards the Hogsmeade evacuees. Lorcan was flummoxed by this—by this expedition to the settlement, to even have his parents present.

"Are you planning on staying?" Lysander finally asked.

"Indefinitely," their mother replied, her long dirty blonde hair streaming in a tangle behind her. "Until the next battle, so we can help protect Hogwarts."

Lorcan felt the anger rushing up to his face, the sort of rage that usually made him want to throw a punch. His parents hadn't come back to see him or his brother, no motives to check in on them, shirking the concern that every other parent fawned over their children. And while, over his teenage years, Lorcan had become used to this flagrancy, this independence foisted upon him, he was suddenly irked by it. Angry. _Upset_ , even.

They came to the outskirts of the tents, where their father was already using his wand to erect some poles, to get the structure up in place, ropes flying to the soil. Lorcan stopped several paces away from them.

"Oh, Lorcan, what's the matter?" Luna asked again. She probed him with that look again, those big saucer eyes, like two moons in her pale face. He hated how his mother could do that—this unnerving display of attention, of perception, that would vanish only a moment later.

"Blimey, I've said nothing, mum. Nothing's wrong."

"I can tell."

Again, everyone was staring at him. He wondered, with frustration, why his brother didn't see things like he did. Yes, Lysander was more aligned with his parent's outlooks on life, but surely he was also annoyed by their absence, by their selfish inattention to their offspring. Surely, it bothered him too.

But Lysander was only frowning at him, puzzled.

"I'm not going to live with you three," he said, finding his voice. "Sorry. But I'm not. I've been sharing a tent with James and I'm going to keep doing that."

"Well," his father began gruffly, "James is welcome to join our family—"

" _James_ is welcome to join us? Well, you've hardly ever sent me an invitation to join this family so I'm not surprised that you'd extend it first to James."

Lysander was frowning more than ever, his mouth a perfect little arc. Rolf was blustering, trying to pluck the words out of the air to express his surprise. But Luna, as always, with her penetrating stare, said what was on Lorcan's mind.

"He's angry at us for leaving for so long."

"That's not all," he added, challenging his mother.

"And I think he's probably feeling a bit like a fish out of water with us around," she acknowledged, as if she was some polite translator hired to interpret Lorcan's moods to his father.

"C'mon, Lorcan," Rolf sighed. "We're here all together now. It'll be like old times, like when we went on all those camping trips—"

"I _hated_ those camping trips," he snapped back, feeling much younger now. Snide and sullen, like a kid. "You and mum and Lysander would go off and bird watch diricawls and augureys."

"Well, that's good fun, isn't it?" Rolf replied, flabbergasted.

"I'm gonna go find James. I'll see you around, I guess."

Lysander said his name, once, as he turned and walked away—but no one came after him, which he figured proved his point. He had never been one for this family.

* * *

Lorcan was bristling with anger when he returned to his own tent, ready to get stuck into his parents, to spew his vitriol to James, to vent until his veins popped. But all this fury was undercut when, to his surprise, there were girls in his tent.

Two girls. Two Slytherin girls.

And a bottle of whiskey.

"Oi, he's back! That's was quick," James said, cheerfully—rosy cheeked.

Lorcan took a step back, hesitating, his heat muddled with confusion. They were sitting on a pile of cushions on the floor that the boys had been using as a sitting area. It was a rather paired back tent, very little inside it. A set of bunk beds, a kettle, a bench. Its spartan decor could not match what he imaged the Slytherin common room to look like, only baffling him further.

"Since when do we take houseguests?" Lorcan frowned.

"We just finished a game of Cabbage Quidditch," Isabella Nott said, crossing her legs. "Thought we deserved to relax post match."

"And what're you going here?" Lorcan added, nodding to Alice Lim.

She held up the bottle, large and heavy, the amber liquid sloshing around in it, and raised both her eyebrows as if to question why he needed to ask.

"We bumped into Alice and asked her along," Isabella clarified, a little defensively.

"I heard there was whiskey," she added. "Which has been harder to source since the start of the siege, so it was enough to convince me."

Lorcan gave James a pointed look. A _will this just fuck you up again_ look, which his friend flinched away from, shaking his head, acting innocent.

"I haven't even taken a drink."

"He hasn't," Isabella corroborated.

"Where'd you get the bottle, then?"

"From Hagrid's hut. He won't miss it," Alice said.

It was clear then that he wasn't getting rid of them. Lorcan settled into the pillow pile, taking the bottle as Isabella passed it to him and gulping from its neck. At least if he drank the alcohol, James wouldn't. If there was one thing that would set James off again, it would be him diving into the drink. Even the smell of it in their close quarters was making Lorcan edgy. He took a second gulp and passed it along to Lim, letting the whiskey punch the back of his throat with its fiery fist.

"How'd it go with your parents?" James asked.

With a shifty look, Lorcan assessed the two girls. Lorcan liked the company of girls. He liked the way he puffed up, all bravado, all aplomb, whenever he was around a girl. He liked to flirt. He was a flirty sort of guy, easily charming, disarming, a little gruff in the way that girls liked. It was hard to talk about something real and humiliating and crippling in front of two girls, even if he would never stand a chance with them anyway.

"It was fine."

"Fine?" James repeated, unconvinced. He even scoffed. Lorcan noticed that he was tossing the bottle cap up into the air and catching it, all left-handed. "Since when is your interaction with your family just fine?"

He shrugged, hoping for Merlin's sake that he would just drop it.

"Your parents are here?" Alice asked, surprised. "On the grounds?"

"Staying here, yes."

"Ah, lucky you. My parents are stuck in Diagon Alley."

Lorcan knew Alice, but not very well. He knew her because they often sat together on the train ride from King's Cross Station to Hogwarts, linked by mutual friends. He knew her from Quidditch after parties and birthdays in Rose's childhood. She was a rough kind of girl, as blunt in her personality as she was in her haircut. He couldn't imagine anything stopping her from becoming a rebel at Diagon Alley. "You haven't thought about joining them there? I mean, there's no real point in finishing your final year. If you want to fight—"

"I want to stay put," Alice replied, cutting across him, "because there will come a time where this is the place that will be attacked. It won't stay a stronghold forever. And I'm not leaving my girls."

"Your girls?" James frowned.

She nodded begrudgingly towards her roommate. "Nott and Weasley. I'm going to stick around and see this through."

Isabella made a high pitch little sound that seemed to convey how moved she was, reaching out to brush Alice's hand, which the other girl only battered away with a roll of her eyes. As if to clear her palette of the sentimentality, she took a gulp of the whiskey.

"Well, my parent's are in France, I think," Isabella shrugged, taking the bottle back. "They pissed right off when I told them I was staying. You'd think they'd never even had a child."

Lorcan held out a hand, reaching for the bottle, and Isabella handed it over. He took a gulp.

"I suppose the only one who can't complain is James."

James winced warily and nodded, his eyes following the bottle, but he never reached for it. Instead, he just watched it circulate, three sets of lips closing around the bottleneck, the gulp as the throat took the amber liquid down.

"My Dad always says your family isn't who you're related to, it's who you choose to have in your life," he said.

"Easy to say when your parents are always around," Alice scoffed.

* * *

"Our parents are gone," Albus said, drawing Rose aside. They were on their way to the library, where they had planned another of their gruelling study sessions, their vain attempt to swallow all the information on the shelves. Scorpius was already there. Rose and Albus were arriving late because they were sent on the brigade that was supposed to locate Lorcan Scamander. Now, it appeared they would be even later, as Albus pulled his cousin into a niche in the wall where a suit of armour used to stand.

"What do you mean?"

"Both my mum and dad, _and_ your mum and dad are _gone,_ " Albus repeated, his green eyes wide. "I overhead Neville telling Hannah that they would be leaving through the Portkey Doorway."

"Perhaps they just have to duck off to Diagon Alley for a meeting or something."

"Neville said that he would send their bags after them and make sure it arrives before they do."

Rose clucked her tongue, allowing this to sink in. She didn't comment on her cousin's eavesdropping, a family habit he had always insisted he never partook in. Instead, she continued down the hall, onto the library, and he followed her. She was turning over the reasons why their parents would leave in secret, without telling them. They were on the Order now—there was no need to be kept in the dark.

They entered the library. They were almost always alone in here now, piles of incunabula teetering in their return trays, never to be returned to their shelves. There was always more to read, more to retain.

Scorpius was already surrounded by a new pile of books, all to do with the Philosopher's Stone. He was bent over _Apis Philosophorum: The Magnum Opus of Nicholas Flamel._ The cousins took seats on either side of him, pulling up their own books—Rose selected _The Midas Touch: Gold Beyond Measure_ and Albus opened a revised edition of _Alchemy's Secrets to Eternal Life_. They began tediously flipping through the worn down pages.

"Is this today's project?" Rose asked after a pause.

"Mhm. You were both late."

"We had stuff to do. Something's going on," Rose added, her words weighted.

Scorpius was forced to place down his book, which emitted a little cloud of dust upon making contact with the table, and look them both in the eye. He waited, stoic and expectant, for an explanation.

"The Scamanders are here—as in, their parents, are _here_. And our parents are gone, without telling us why," Albus said.

"The Scamanders are _here_ ," Scorpius frowned, "and both your parents left? That's odd."

"You don't think it's for some mission, do you? They're taking luggage with them."

"My guess would be as good as yours," Scorpius sighed. "Although, it is very strange that Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry would all leave in a rush without even informing their children that they're going."

Scorpius returned back to _Apis Philosophorum_ but didn't seem to be taking in a word this time, his grey eyes glazed over in thought. Rose's own mind was whirling. Her relationship with Albus and Scorpius was tenuous at best these days, and was only loosely held together by their shared investment in revenge upon Romnuk the Rough. As long as they could focus on that, the rest of their tensions could be laid to rest, rendered secondary, an itch compared to an open wound. Their parents operating in secret threatened that equilibrium. It infuriated Rose, who finally felt like she was in on the action, to be locked back outside of it again.

"I have an idea," Albus said, lowering his book, keeping his thumb on the page. The others both turned to him, taut as harp strings. "The Goblin King is after a Philosopher Stone. Imagine the bargaining power we would have if we got a hold of one."

"It's not possible. There aren't any in existence," Scorpius began, rattling away like a verbal encyclopaedia. "They are almost impossible to recreate, only Flamel had perfected the method and he left no instructions for it anywhere—"

"But what if we could make a very convincing copy," Albus said slowly. "Enough that it could fool the King."

"That could work," Rose said slowly. "How would we use that to our advantage?"

"I dunno," Albus shrugged. "But it could come in handy, if we need to make a bargain."

"Goblins hate being tricked," Scorpius warned.

"So, we have to make it convincing."

Everyone paused to consider this proposition. Rose took a deep breath and placed her hands flat on the table top. "Do you think you and Scorpius could make a fake?"

Scorpius was already shaking his head, dismissing the idea. "The only alchemist who could make a convincing copy would be Stella Bellucci."

"So we find Stella Bellucci. We have her make one. We give ourselves a little more power."

"It's not a bad idea," Rose agreed.

But the pair of cousins had not convinced their Slytherin cohort, who was regarding them with a prudent look. "It's worth proposing at the next Order meeting," Scorpius said carefully. But they knew doing so would just shoot down the idea—Scorpius knew so too.

"No, we need to do this, for us." Rose was determined now, shutting her book. Albus did the exact same. "Being in the Order isn't helping us do _our_ job."

"Our job?"

"The prophecy is about us," Albus agreed. "So why are we always being left in the dark? We should take matters in our own hands."

"But we don't even know why they _want_ the Stone," Scorpius protested. "You two never think things through to the end. How will this really be of any use—"

"It'll just be a Plan B, alright?" Rose huffed. "We can iron out the details later."

"She's right. Some things are worth the gamble." Albus ripped a page out of the book in front of him. Scorpius winced, looking around as if expecting a non-existent librarian to come down upon them with wrath. "Let's go."

* * *

It was not common knowledge where Stella Bellucci was being held, so it took the trio some time to discover her whereabouts—first questioning a host of their usual sources (for the first time ever, Lily _didn't_ know) before Albus resorted to the Marauder's Map. He collected it from his trunk and shuffled into a classroom with the other two, unfolding it with his wand and muttering the rueful words, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Scorpius leaned in, his grey eyes widening ever so slightly as he took in the multi-faceted map, it's hundred of dots swarming like ants over the parchment.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A family heirloom," Albus replied, squinting down at the parchment. He folded the map once, then unfolded it to reveal the East Wing of the school.

"She's here, in one of the towers."

"This map is fascinating—surely this sort of advanced magic would be prohib—"

"We need to get everything ready before we see her," Albus said, tucking the map into his pocket. "We have to go to the dungeons."

They took several shortcuts—one of the moving staircases, then a trick wall that led to a staircase, and soon they were almost upon the potion's rooms—when they decided to part ways. Rose would go and collect her cauldron from her dormitory, and the boys (who had a year's worth of Alchemy training) would filch the necessary ingredients. Rose vanished around the corner leading to the Slytherin Common Room, and the boys made their way to the Potion's storeroom.

"Hold on," Albus muttered, consulting the map once more. His eyebrows leapt to his dark messy curls. "Your father's in there."

"What? But—"

"Yeah, I know. Hermione is supposed to be brewing the Polyjuice Potion."

"I guess she left him in charge," Scorpius muttered, tight lipped. "He _is_ the Potion's teacher here now."

"Interim Potion's teacher," Albus corrected, a little wry.

"Touché. Thank you."

"You need to go in and distract him."

" _Me_?"

"Well, I need to get to the bloody store room, don't I?"

Scorpius huffed, running his fingers over his silver hair as if to straighten out his waves into their previous gelled style. Then, giving up on that, he nodded once and motioned for Albus to hide. Scorpius entered the Potion Master's office.

Only the light of the fires beneath the cauldrons was casting the room into relief, glinting off the many pickled preservatives on the shelves. There were two cauldrons set up on the bench. Just by the smell and the quality of the smoke, Scorpius could tell that the potion was about one third through the completion process. Scorpius moved through the haze, towards his father, who glanced up at him and then returned his attention to the second cauldron.

"I was hardly expecting a visit," Draco said, cold and prim.

Scorpius drew near to the first cauldron, peeking in, his hands resting on the edge of the bench.

"The lacewing flies are coming along swimmingly," Scorpius said. He mustn't be tense. His father would pick that up in a moment. He could sniff it on him like a hound. Keep cool, yes. But not tense. He kept his eyes on the crystallising wings bubbling beneath the potion's surface until he was certain he could keep his eyes flat, cold as stones. Then he looked up. "Are you babysitting Hermone's Polyjuice Potion?"

"Why the insolence?"

"Well, it just needs to brew. And if you set it to self stir with a Transfigiration charm, you can leave it unattended."

"Could I now?" Draco said quietly, twirling his wand between his fingers. He had not dropped his piercing grey gaze. Scorpius could feel it, pressing in around the corners of his mind like hands against glass. It wasn't forceful prying; just intrigue, but it made Scorpius clench up internally, turn his brain to a fist. He moved towards the cauldron, tapping the ladle with his wand and setting it to slowly stir.

"Let's go for a walk," Scorpius said. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Do you?"

Scorpius had the power, he knew. His father was trying to pry into his head, which meant that his offer to talk—an offer for information, for insight—would be enough to hook him in. He left the office and he knew, without needing to turn around, that his father was following him.

Ten minutes would be all they needed. Albus would have that marvellous map open, would know the coast was clear, could steal those ingredients and then be out by the time they returned. He wouldn't spend a minute more alone with his father.

They made their way out into the grounds, where the day was overcast but muggy. They didn't head towards the tents but instead made their way to the lake, where it expanded like a silver mirror. Ripples from the Giant Squid teased the top of the water.

"You would be a great Potioneer, you know," Draco said, glancing at his son. It was a slightly stiff compliment, kind but oozing with ulterior motives, imbued with a push towards ambition. His mother usually delivered those sort of compliments much more delicately. "You have a natural gift for it."

"I don't think it matters either way."

"Nonsense. This war won't last forever Scorpius. Sooner than later, you will realise it is necessity to leave this place. And you can take your Potioneering talent with you. In fact, many other countries privilege those skills more highly than the British—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Dad," Scorpius said, cuttingly. They stopped by the edge of the lake, where the pale pebbles shifted under their polished shoes. He was glad his father _couldn't_ get into his head. Not when he still dreamed of becoming an Alchemist, a miracle worker. That he would one day discover the cure for lycanthropy. That he would then, perhaps when he was older, become a Herbology teacher, and the public would marvel at his humility. These ridiculous daydreams.

Draco brushed his fingers over his long, slick ponytail, then threw it over his shoulder.

"What did you wish to talk about?"

"Hmm?" Scorpius turned towards the water, pretending to be pensive, trying to think. "You mentioned to Rose something about being a seventh year."

Draco sniffed and turned away. "I told her what she needed to know."

"But what about the book?"

Draco turned to Scorpius and frowned. "The book?"

"That small, black book the seventh years gave us?"

"I never saw a small black book," Draco said slowly. "I left, Scorpius. I didn't want to be a fagmaster. I didn't come back."

"So, you don't really have a clue, do you?"

He could feel his father's eyes on him again, boring into his profile, studying the soft curve of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw. A face between a child and a man.

"I am proud of you," Draco said carefully to the side of his son's face. "Both your mother and I are. We wanted you to be better than we were, and you have been."

Scorpius didn't respond to this. He remained impassive, no ripple on his face, stiller than the lake. A part of him had opened at the words, like a clam in steam, but he didn't dare meet his father's gaze. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe his father was lowering his guard to get into his head, and these words were merely a net to catch him in.

"I am glad you chose to stay for the remaining year. Even with my poor advice, you have never repeated my mistakes."

His father turned to look out at the water, and Scorpius turned to study his profile now. The silver in his temples was almost indistinguishable from his blond hair—almost, but not quite. He wondered if there would ever be a day where he would meet his father's eyes.

"We should go back. Hermione would be furious if you messed up her potion."

"If _you_ messed it up, I think is what you meant," his father replied archly. But they turned away from the lake and headed back towards the castle, shoes crunching from the pebbles to the grass.

They walked all their way back to the dungeons, only passing Peeves on the way, who was vandalising the portraits with chalk. The office was as empty as they left it, the ladle still turning on its own, the potions still brewing. They didn't say another word to one another. Draco took his position behind the cauldron once more and Scorpius left, as if nothing had been shared.

* * *

Confronting Stella Bellucci was enough to make Rose's stomach turn. Nerves were the last emotion she had expected to feel. She had felt so hard over the course of the summer, a hermit crab in a shell, tough exterior and sharp claws and everything soft tucked away inside. Seeing Bellucci, and demanding this of her, was enough to make her a little sick inside.

They climbed the East Wing tower, supporting the heavy cauldron between them as they mounted the spiral staircase—as always, doing something that hadn't been thought through. At least this didn't risk any of their lives, she consoled herself. It would just be a power ploy—and an important one too.

Because whether she liked it or not, the three of them were alone. They couldn't depend on anyone else to get the job done—not the Order and certainly not the adults. It had to be them, and they needed as many aces up their sleeve as they could find.

The landing on the very top of the tower had a locked door. They placed the heavy cauldron down on the stone with a clang. Scorpius withdrew his wand and tried _Alohomora_ , with no results. Albus squeezed past him, his own wand withdrawn. "I read about a tricky door opening charm that may work," he said, pointing his want not at the lock but at the door's hinges and reciting the incantation. To their surprise, it did indeed work—the door's hinges melted away, and they were able to kick it in.

Stella Bellucci startled in her cell.

The glamorous, award winning teacher that had nettled them for months with her melodious voice was entirely changed. Her slick brown hair had become greasy and lank, her face plain and pallid, her robes unwashed. Gone where the airs and grace. She leapt out of the bed set up against the wall and moved clumsily into a duelling position, wand in hand, but Rose had disarmed her before she had even said a spell.

"They let you keep your wand," she said, surprised. She held it in her left fist, and kept her wand trained on her former professor.

Bellucci glared at the three of them, her face twisting into a sour look.

"We have a proposition," Albus said, dragging the cauldron into the room. "We need you to make a Philosopher's Stone."

"Ridiculous," Bellucci trilled, her voice a little too high. " _Absurd_ suggestion."

"A counterfeit Philosopher's Stone," Scorpius corrected. "It just needs to look like one."

Albus held up the torn page from the library book, the image of a blood red stone glistening on the parchment. Stella raised her eyebrows, and then ruffled her fingers through her hair and dropping her eyelids, pretending to be glib. She turned towards the narrow window in the wall, pressing her fingers to the coloured panes in the glass.

"That will still take me _months_ ," she snapped, then laughed quite suddenly. "Are you quite gifted enough to produce a little counterfeit stone?"

"We don't have that sort of time," Rose interrupted coldly. "Whereas you don't have much else to do trapped inside a prison cell."

Stella whipped around at them, grinning. She ran her fingers through her lank hair again, as if trying to neaten it. "I like to sometimes pretend that I'm a princess locked up in a tower, guarded by a dragon, and someone is coming to save me," she said, her smile a little wild. "But I was never the sort of person who waited around to be saved—I never _needed_ to be saved from anything. I wasn't the damsel or the hero."

"I suppose you wouldn't need saving when you're villain," Rose said coldly.

"Oh, _honey_ ," Stella broke into another high pitch laugh, gripping her robes. "Sweet little _petal_ , I am not the villain. I'm the dragon in this story. I'm just an opportunist. So—what's in it for me? If I make your Stone, what do I get?"

They contemplated for a moment, sharing shifty looks. They hadn't talked about this. They hadn't worked out what it was that would motivate Bellucci to do what they asked. And it was in her nature to strike a bargain.

"We'll give you freedom," Rose said, spitting the words out bitterly.

"And go behind your mummy's back?" Stella asked, her eyebrows rising again. "Well, isn't that a little bit wicked? You know, the reason they let me keep my wand is because Granger put all sorts of enchantments on that door. I couldn't crack them. And then you three just blast the damn thing open! How _marvellous_ , how absolutely stupendous!"

She must have been going mad, locked up in the tower. Or maybe she had always been mad. They inched a little closer to the doorway.

"What stopping me from making a break for it right now?"

"You don't have a wand," Rose said, gripping it more tightly. "And you're outnumbered. I've beat you once already. It won't be hard to do it when you're unarmed."

"Oh, Rose—you were never as _clever_ as the boys in potions, but you knew how to pack a punch, didn't you, darling? I could see it in you _right_ away, from the moment we brushed shoulders—you didn't like me, of course, but I'm quite used to that. Very few women do. But it's absolutely _wonderful_ when you meet a woman who's just a willing climb her way to the top. I saw that in you. You wouldn't stop. You'd do whatever it took. Whether that meant getting the best mark in the class, or whether that meant avenging that little gir—"

"Don't talk about her!" Rose roared, drawing both the wands, with both her hands. Sparks crackled from the end of them, sizzling in the circular chamber.

Bellucci's manic smile faded, leaving in its wake her former doe-eyed look. She widened her dark eyes, brown and warm, full of a glazed despondency.

"I didn't mean for her to die—she was such a cute little thing. One of the better members of my second year class, and ace on a broom too! I really just wanted her to succeed, didn't I? That's all I ever want. I like to help the successful ones reach their potential. That way, they help me reach _my_ potential. But that's not the way the world works, darling. Don't you see it yourself? The weak perish. The weak _must_ perish. It's the natural order of things. And you must do _whatever_ it takes so you're not heaped into the pile with all the other weak ones. You must lie and cheat and steal and even kill. Whatever it takes."

Rose didn't respond this time. She was baiting her into a fight. She was deranged, perhaps so much so that her brain had wasted away and there would be no chance of a Stone being made anyway. It was better to stay silent, to lower the two wands. To swallow her grief and her fury and save it for Romnuk, when they finally came face to face.

Stella sensed that the argument was over. She drew back into herself, inhaling deeply and then deflating. Once more, she became lost in her false superficiality, trying to catch her reflection in the narrow window, pruning her hair.

"That's why I made all those potions, you know?" Stella said, with a shrug, still fixing her hair. "The potions to get rid of Squibs and Werewolves. I was paid quite a bit by the Department of Mysteries—oh, you know Government jobs. They pay _so_ well, and the perks! And I got into Gladstone's good books that way. But I could tell he wasn't all there, even before he got in as the Minister. So I got out—I pulled a few strings and I took the job here. I had to do whatever it took to stay alive. I'm _not_ a bad person," she pouted, turning toward them again, appealing to them in a childish voice. "I never _used_ the potions—not ever! I just made the weapons, but I never used them. _They_ should be punished, not me! I never meant for Meredith to go into that pub, I never thought that would happen! Why is it my fault? Blame them—blame _them, out there_."

She pointed out towards the narrow window, her finger trembling.

It was Scorpius who now took a tentative step forward, his face steely and cool. He spoke calmly, his voice measured.

"You can right the balance a little by doing this for us. We've also needed to lie, cheat and steal. That's how we'll get the goblins. And this may help us. And, we'll give you your freedom, too. Once it's done."

Stella regarded her young former apprentice with ardent eyes, looking him up and down as if about to appraise him. Then she swept forward, peering into the cauldron.

"All the ingredients are in there?" she asked.

"All of them," Albus confirmed.

"And when it's done, I can go?" she said, looking at them with large eyes. "You'll let me escape."

"Guaranteed."

"Hmmm. Alright. It'll be our little secret, I suppose. I'll need my wand back though."

Rose stared at her, cold but furious. She would never trust this woman. Not before, with her singsong lies; not now, with her dissonant ramblings. Stella leaned forward, her body lithe as a snake's, hands resting on the lip of the cauldron.

"I'll put the wand in the cauldron. Step back against the wall and don't come near it until we seal the door back in place," Rose said, waving the others behind her.

" _Just_ like an Auror, aren't you? Well, I'm always one to comply when it suits me. Here I am, against the wall. Just drop the wand in, won't you? I'll show you how well a proper lady can behave, Rose, dear."

The boys had levitated the door back to the bracket. Rose dropped Bellucci's wand and slowly moved backwards, her own weapon still pointing at the potion master. She never turned her back.

"Oh," Stella said, smiling coyly, back still against the wall. "You missed kill."

"Sorry?" Rose said.

"Before, I said I've had to lie, cheat, steal and _kill_. Scorpius forgot to say kill."

Rose stepped back into the landing. Albus moved forward to bring the floating door back into its frame. Bellucci grinned at the confusion on their faces.

"Don't forgot, you three have killed too. Goblins, little girls. Those deaths are on your hands too."

The door squealed back into its hinges, leaving the unhinged behind the metal.

* * *

 **A/N: Everyone has been clamouring for James and Isabella. I never intended them to be endgame (still don't) but due to popular demand, they're featured together yay.**

 **Thank you for everyone's kind words and support. Work and life has kept me on my toes, but I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. The next one is a fun one (mostly).**


	4. Chapter Three

—CHAPTER THREE—

It was the first time any of them had dared leave the battle lines drawn between the school and the village, the bank and the alley. Yet, they had returned to where they all had shared roots. Where a rickety old building teetered high above hedges, unchanged despite everything, at the top of the hill.

Ginny was leading the pack, several steps in front of the others the moment that they Apparated. Her brothers, Hermione and Harry all marched behind her. The only one of their number who had stayed behind was Fleur, insisting that someone needed to remain at the pub in case an ambush was sprung, in case a battle was to interrupt the throbbing grief of the Weasley's personal lives. In any case, all of them had their wands out.

As Ron managed to catch up to his sister, panting hard when he reached her, he was far more watery than she was. "You don't think there's a chance—maybe we should have brought Hannah."

Ginny shook her head, mouth drawn in a thin line, and kept up her steady stride.

As they reached the front gate, there was a loud crack. Everyone started, whipping around as quickly as their reflexed allowed. Half a dozen curses had already flown in the direction of their assailant before they recognise the shock of red hair.

"Blimey," Charlie said, dropping his own Shield Charm and blinking at the group. "I wasn't expecting a bloody ambush."

"Neither were we," George said grimly, no humour in his face. "You got here fast."

"As soon as I heard the news," Charlie replied, falling into step beside them. They had to shuffle single file through the gate. "When I got word, I dropped everything, went straight to the city so I could get transport sorted. I Apparated out of Romania without a visa, but I don't think we have people checking those things anymore, do we?"

Bill scoffed in response, gripping Charlie's shoulder tightly.

There wasn't time for reunions. Everyone was in the Burrow, surging up the stairs to the fourth floor. Having led the pack there, Ginny was the first to the door, but the moment she was beneath the frame, all the ferocity went out of her like a snuffled flame. Her brow crumpled, her mouth curved into its shrinking grimace as she took in the sight of her father crumpled under bed sheets, frail and pale.

She sucked in a deep breath and dropped her bags on the floor. "Daddy," she whimpered, and flew to his bedside, where Molly was sitting, hunched over Arthur's arms.

The rest of the Weasley children poured in after her, taking their places. Ron by the nightstand, George by his father's feet, Charlie and Bill at either arm.

Arthur had been like a father to Harry through all these years, yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't cross the threshold and join the picture of grief framed by the door.

With some insistence from Hermione, Mrs Weasley agreed to retreat into the kitchen for a short break. She slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, her head resting heavily on her hands, doubled by the invisible weight of her exhaustion. The kettle was bubbling. Hermione was collecting mugs from the cupboard, taking the teapot from its shelf. It was all done without magic, as if to slow down the process. Perhaps she also felt the intrusion, the inability to return to that room. Harry took the kettle off the stove and carefully poured the boiling water into the pot.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit with him, Molly?"

Slowly, Mrs Weasley raised her head and blinked her bloodshot eyes. It was like Hermione wasn't even there, as if she was staring right through her. The question finally registered. "I've been sitting with him all night."

"Arthur's strong," Harry said, dunking the teabags. "He might pull through."

"We're old, Harry," Mrs Weasley said. She held his gaze blankly before a wispy smile played across her mouth. "Remember when he was bitten by that great dirty snake and he was sitting in St Mungo's, telling us he had tried that mad Muggle procedure—what's it called?"

"Stitches," Hermione said, also smiling a little.

"Stitches! As if he was a set of old robes that needed patching!"

Once again, she lowered her head onto her hands. "Percy wasn't there that time either."

While her head was bowed, Harry and Hermione were able to share a look. They hadn't been able to get word to Percy, who had completely dropped off the grid. Hermione clutched the locket around her neck and sighed, heading towards the living room, likely to try and contact him again.

With steady hands, Harry filled up the two remaining mugs and slid the second across to Mrs Weasley. She rose with the steam, breathing it in deeply and lowering her hands to clutch the porcelain. She smiled weakly at Harry. "I'm alright, dear," she said, suddenly seemingly exactly like her usual self. "Arthur and I have lived through three wars in our lifetime. We have lived long lives."

Something caught in Harry's throat, forcing him to gulp down a mouthful of scalding tea that only made matters worse. When he recovered, pretending the tears in his eyes were from his burning throat, he managed to say, "I don't know how you've done it."

"You find ways and reasons to survive. All of you, our family, our grandchildren. You were our reasons. And you're all grown up now. You're all fighting your own battles."

For a while, they sat in silence. They could hear Hermione murmuring in the next room, her voice urgent.

"I thought about running," Harry admitted, sheepish. "I've suggested t a few times to Ginny. It's cowardly, I know. But I want to protect them."

Mrs Weasley smiled slowly again, the wrinkled around her mouth folding into ceases. She blew on her tea. "You don't think Arthur and I wanted to run? But none of you allowed that to be an option, did you?"

"How did you cope?"

"Day by day, and with great fear," she replied.

And he remembered, with startling clarity, the boggart in Grimmauld Place, transitioning through each of her children as Molly sobbed over it—it had been too hard to come up with a funny memory then, a silly reason to disperse the very worst fear of a parent. Molly and Arthur had lived the reality of that fear. They had lost Fred, and the pain of that still made Harry's heart clench.

Hermione came back into the room, tucking her locket back under the collar of her jumper. She raised the teapot lid and peered inside. "Shall I get us more tea?"

"That would be perfect," Harry said, before sculling the rest of his mug.

Hermione carried it over to the kettle.

"Mum."

They all looked up. Ron was leaning on the kitchen's doorjamb, his eyes bloodshot and webbed with tears. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"He's gone," Ron sniffed.

Hermione slowly put the kettle back down again. It thudded dully as it hit the benchtop.

"Well, not a bad way to go, was it? With all of his beautiful children around him," Molly said, very calmly. She stood, wiping her hands down her front, then squaring her shoulders. "Let's head upstairs. Hermione, dear, could you please write to Fleur and let her know we'll be burying Arthur this afternoon? In case she wants to pop by. It'll just be down at the gravesite in Ottery St Catchpole, where Fred is."

"Of course, Molly," Hermione murmured, already moving out of the kitchen.

"It's quite alright, Ron. Let's head back upstairs. Harry?"

"I'll be up in a minute," he said, his voice still tight. He watched his best friend climb the stairs, his shaking arm around his mother's bent shoulders. It was the most exhausted he had felt in years. If he could have put his head on the kitchen table, he may never have been able to lift it again—it would weigh as much as stone.

He heard the door open and turned around, already grabbing his wand with clumsy fingers. Baffled and windswept, Percy burst into through living room and into the kitchen, his scarf trailing after him. He blinked at Harry, sitting solitary at the kitchen table, and all the urgency bled out of him.

"I'm too late, aren't I?" he asked.

Harry nodded his head infinitesimally. "They're all upstairs."

Percy slumped over to the kitchen table, taking a seat and removing his tortoise shell glasses. He buried his face in his hands.

"Here. Let me get you some tea."

* * *

Scorpius and Rose sat on the floor of the boy's seventh year dormitories, which had only recently been repopulated—Scorpius' neatly packed trunk, his dark navy duvet, his Quidditch boots by the door had all found their new home—but between them sat the most important item among his possessions.

The little black leather book.

It was bound with cordage, making it all the more tempting to pull aside and thumb through the pages.

"They said the official title is Serpen," Rose started.

They had revisited the topic several times during the summer, each time beginning with their meeting with the previous group of seventh years; rehashing the instructions, analysing the plain black cover of the little book in hops of gleaning some answers, as if holding it on a new angle would illume some new understanding.

"Serpen Bearers," Scorpius corrected, as he usually did when they had this discussion. "It's just Latin for snake."

"So it could be nothing," Rose said, with a shrug. "It could just be a stupid, made-up title, couldn't it? Wouldn't be surprising if someone just made up the title to feel important, would it?"

Scorpius nodded very slowly, his expression grim. "It is something a Slytherin would do," he conceded.

But neither of them dropped the topic. The _official_ title, they had said, as if this had some important history attached to it. There was no one left to ask—a few of the former Slytherin seventh years had stayed in the Tent City, but it wasn't worth trying to get answers out of them. Scorpius' father, the only alumnus to ever discuss the fagmaster system, hadn't been any help at all When Scorpius brought the subject up. They considered the Bloody Baron, but when they plied the ghost with questions, they only received cryptic responses that made no sense at all.

But Rose couldn't just forget about the little black book. There was something sinister in its innocent appearance, its tattered corners. It thrummed with a magic that felt alive, as if hundred of ants were trapped under the cover. While she insisted that he pull it out so they could study it, Scorpius always locked it in his trunk when they were done, certain that Rose would have opened it by now—broken the rules. She was the sort of person who didn't put much stock into rules, and he had a bad feeling about breaking the particular instructions they were given.

Sensing that her fascination was becoming a tad too strong, Scorpius picked up the book and tucked it back inside his trunk, snapping the lid shut. Rose sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, stopping short where it ended at her shoulders. She seemed to always forget its new length.

"I feel like we're a bit better prepared," she acknowledged, returning to her business like tone. "I've gotten much better with non-verbal magic, and you've improved somewhat with duelling."

"Somewhat?" he repeated dryly.

Rose sniffed. "I'm still far better than you."

"Remember that one time I brought the Owlery rafters down on you?"

"Cheating," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

They both gave each other their broken smiles, like second-hand gifts repaired then exchanged, offered to one another as recompense. It was the best they could muster up. Scorpius felt his slowly slip from his face.

"We do need to be better prepared. We need to be better than they are. I don't know how else we can push ourselves."

"I was thinking," Rose said cautiously, her blue eyes darting up at him, "we could always check out the Restricted Section."

It was an unintentional scowl that spoilt his cherub lips. He would have preferred not to have shown any emotion at all, but he couldn't help it. Rose was not in the soundest of minds, and even if she had been, the thought of her pulling ideas from those books alarmed him. She had far less impulse control than he did, and she was hell-bent on revenge.

Reading his expression, Rose launched to her defence. "We could just look through a few of the advanced offensive magic books, you know? And I was thinking, there might be something in there that explains the whole Serpen thing."

She had thought through how to sell this idea to him. It was true—it was the one place they had yet to look, that may hold answers. If they wanted to get to the bottom of Slytherin's secrets, the Restricted Section may be their best bet.

"We won't be able to check those books out while Albus is with us," Scorpius conceded. "He can't know about the Serpen Bearers."

"He wouldn't like it anyway, would he?" Rose said, frowning. "When I mentioned looking up goblin books in the Restricted Section a few weeks ago, he said we should avoid it until we've exhausted all the other shelves."

"We'll have to go to the library on our own then," Scorpius sighed. "Find the books we need and bring them back here."

"Just the two of us," she acknowledged, then pursed her lips in the faintest of smiles. "Just like all those study dates we used to do that we liked to pretend weren't really dates."

Scorpius scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes, returning to those days in fifth year. Rose tucked one of her knees up to her chest and straightening the other out so her foot could nudge his leg like some strange alternative to shaking hands to seal a deal. They would go to the library on their own and scour the shelves and pilfer what they needed from the minds of sadists. She nudged his foot with her own once more, forcing him to look up at her. He paused, a little perplexed, trying to read her expression. She seemed puzzled too, as if trying to remember something, her thick brows pulled together and her eyes studying him in distraction, their startling blue lingering on the pink of his lips in a way that he had almost entirely forgotten.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows, prompting her to say whatever was on her mind, but she only shook her head and brushed her hands through her hair once more—abruptly halting when she reached her shoulders, again forgetting its new length. But he didn't pause to consider what had arrested her attention. Scorpius knew what Rose was obsessing over, really—a little black book destined for them both, bound with secrets, waiting for them like a present under a tree. That had to be it.

Soon, they would be able to open it, one way or another. Soon.

* * *

Imogen Abercrombie was sitting in font of the old box-set television eating a packet of crisps that she had substituted for dinner. With each salty crunch, she flicked the remote control, skipping channels, until she finally came to a stop on the news.

It was some sort of breaking news report from London. What was speculated to be another terrorist attack. A car had driven into pedestrians outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, most likely targeting tourists. The news reporter was gabbing away at the scene, her voice throbbing with urgency as she said buzz words—"deliberate" and "calculated" and "all too ordinary".

Imogen switched off the television set. Since returning home at start of the summer, she was beginning to doubt her decision with each passing day. It hadn't been sensible at all to run from the fight, especially since it was the same shit out here, in the Muggle world. Terrorist attacks, random targets, climbing panic. And nothing that could be done about it.

She heard her mother enter, the jangle of keys, the smell of take-away food, and finally, the strike of a match. She was lighting candles, which meant someone was coming over. Imogen scrunched up the plastic packet of crisps to make her presence known.

"Oh, you're in, are you?" her mum said, coming through the flat with the matchbox still in her hand.

"I don't have anywhere better to be."

"I have a bloke coming by tonight, so you can either hang about in your room or go out."

"Again?"

This passive aggressive reply was ignored. Her mum lit a sandalwood candle on the mantle, then primed her hair in the mirror above it, dabbing at the skin beneath her eyes. It depressed Imogen to think that she would probably share her mother's appearance in two decade's time.

"I got a Chinese if you're peckish. It's in the kitchen."

"I'm not hungry," Imogen growled, lounging further into the sofa.

Her mother turned to face her, checking that both her earrings were in. She tugged her earlobes. Imogen hadn't told her that she wasn't planning to go back to school after the summer. That this was it, the world was ending. She was completely cut off since leaving Hogwarts, no way to communicate with anyone.

The scent of sandalwood, usually comforting, was getting to her.

"I'll go out," she decided, pushing off the sofa and grabbing her bag. "I'll be back in a couple hours."

"Thanks, love."

What did her mother think she would be doing? Where did she expect her to go? Did she lack all maternal concern, the sort that everyone else's mums seemed to naturally possess? Wasn't she supposed to say, "be careful out there" and "it's dangerous these days" and "make sure you keep your phone on." All the usual buzzwords.

But her mum just turned back to the mirror, smoothing her eyebrows and pulling at the skin on her neck so it was taut.

Imogen closed the door behind her. The hallway still smelt like take out Chinese. She could hear their neighbours rowing through the wall. Somewhere on the street, a dog was barking in response to a shattered bottle.

It was all so mundane. So Muggle.

She could have Apparated to anywhere in the country, anywhere away from the place she had put herself. Instead, she headed down the narrow staircase and into the flickering halos of the streetlamps.

* * *

They passed Mary Boot and Lucy Bird on the way up to the library. It was startling to see the two girls, leaning against the doors that led to the courtyard, deep in conversation with two mugs of steaming tea in their hands. There was something so pedestrian in their appearance there, their own little conversation interrupted as Rose and Scorpius passed, nodding briefly in hello. It occurred to Rose that she had forgotten that other people were still in the Castle. That it wasn't just her and the Slytherins in the underground den. People had stayed behind, other seventh years, other students, and she had quite forgotten that they existed.

"I forgot that Boot and Bird had stayed the summer," Rose admitted as they climbed their final staircase.

Scorpius shook his head, slightly exasperated. "Well, you practically live underground or in the library. Most days you don't come down to breakfast until it's ten to eleven, and by then he Great Hall is empty. What were you expecting?"

"I suppose I just got really good at avoiding people," she replied, annoyed by his sarcasm.

It occurred to Rose that, out of all the seventh year Gryffindors, Lucy Bird was the only girl who had stayed. It must have been very lonely in her single dormitory, so seeing her with Boot made sense. If anything, Rose had taken Isabella and Alice for granted.

"Am I becoming a recluse?" she asked, expecting her partner to reassure her.

Of course, Scorpius scoffed and said, "Absolutely."

"I'm not that bad," she scowled. They entered the library, Rose now striding ahead of him. She was relieved to find it empty—perhaps that only added value to her boyfriend's argument.

"You're wild and aggressive to most people who aren't me. And sometimes, you aren't all that pleasant to me either." He was droll in tone, tongue in cheek, but it rubbed her the wrong way a little.

"I'm not _aggressive_ ," she snapped.

"You're traumatised," he replied, weaving around her to the back section of the library. "You won't deal with your trauma. So you're acting out."

"Thanks, Doctor Feelings. Well, at least I won't need a self help book now," she replied, rounding the shelves and almost colliding with a person who ought not to be standing hidden behind corners.

"Were you planning a study session without me?"

There was Albus—the very person they were trying to hide from. They were close to the Restricted Section too, only an aisle away, and he had foiled them. Surely, he had better places to be than alone in the library. But Rose quickly batted that cruel thought away. Albus was also very lonely, no doubt. Imogen Abercrombie was probably his closest friend in Gryffindor, and she was gone. It was worrying that he could be found alone in the library, without company or acquaintance.

"We were going to grab a few books, then come and find you," Scorpius replied smoothly, the lie hardly detectable at all. "We thought it would be nice to get out of the library while the weather is still decent. Perhaps read by the beech tree."

Albus watched them both, lingering on Rose, who found it much harder to conceal her culpabilities. Was she avoiding Albus? She wasn't entirely sure she was avoiding anyone, really. She just found it hard to relate to anyone outside of her own head. And Albus seemed to require extra sensitivity that she now lacked more than ever. With the searing look he was giving her, she expected him to call her out—to accuse her of neglecting him.

Instead, Albus headed toward one of the Charms sections. Rose exhaled heavily and sent a pointed look to Scorpius.

They spent the afternoon as Scorpius had suggested—by the beech tree near the lake, with a few books scattered between them and parchment for notes. But while the weather was fine and the books interesting, no one spoke very much. Albus was working his way through _The_ _Healer's Handbook_ , quietly mouthing the spells he was trying to learn. Rose noticed that despite the warmth, he was wearing long sleeves and that he hadn't pushed them up.

"You know, Al," she tried tentatively, placing her own book down against her knees, "you can trust us both with anything. There's no reason to hide anything from us."

"Who's saying that I'm the one hiding something?" he replied, eyes still on the page, not missing a beat. Scorpius cleared his throat very quietly. Rose decided not to press the point.

* * *

Lucy Weasley, now ten years old, was sitting on the back veranda of her grandparent's home, lying on her stomach, her feet dangling in the air behind her. She was ardently sketching a family portrait, featuring her maternal grandparents and her mother and father, she herself in the very middle. As she drew, her brown hair fell over her shoulder, catching the light of the setting sun so that it blazed auburn.

Her mother came out onto the veranda. Lucy glanced up for a moment, noticing that something wasn't quite right. Her nose was pink, her cheeks rosy, and eyes bright—but it wasn't cold. And her mother didn't acknowledge her, as she usually would. There was no pat on the head or sweet endearment parcelled out. Instead, Audrey stared blankly out at the garden, in the direction of the right yellow Creeping Buttercups, but her eyes were unfocused.

Lucy turned back to her picture, colouring in the triangle of her mother's dress a vivid yellow. Then, as it was finished, she regarded her crudely drawn portrait. It still seemed somehow unfinished. Like something was missing.

Her mother kneeled down beside her, suddenly there again, switched on. She was gazing over her daughter's shoulder at the colourful drawing.

"Oh darling," she said, scooping Lucy into her lap. "That's so lovely. Is that us?"

"Mhm," Lucy said, leaning back into her mother's embrace. She could tell by the way her mother's head tilted and her brows furrowed that she shared in the same reservations.

"You've forgotten Molly."

Of course! Molly. She had forgotten her sister. A mingling relief and shame flooded her at the same time—how could she have forgotten Molly.

"I'll add her in," Lucy said, climbing back out of her mother's lap and returning to her pencil-set. "I'll add Molly in, and I'll also add Granma Molly and Grandpa Arthur too. So that it's even," she explained, already re-assessing the drawing.

Lucy didn't realise that her mother was crying. She was weeping very quietly into the cuff of her sleeve. She was thinking of Arthur, buried without having seen his son. She was thinking of her eldest daughter, whom she had not seen in years.

Audrey was weeping so keenly that she did not notice the pencil fly into the air of its own accord, scribbling itself across the parchment to add another stick figure with yellow hair and glasses, whisking itself wandlessly across the page.

* * *

It was best that they split up, and not remain in the library, in case Albus caught them again. Rose decided to collect the books and would meet Scorpius back in the dungeons. She had promised she wouldn't be long.

She threw one of her long legs over the red rope that ran across the Restricted Section, then moved towards the same row of shelves they had found last time. As she piled up the dusty books, a part of her wondered at the point—it was almost September, they would be allowed to open the little black book at the turn of the month. Her impatience had folded to an obsession with wanting to know more—Rose realised that their ambition to learn everything that could be learned was not entirely healthy. Even if she could swallow all of the information in this library, it would not save her.

The library was empty, like an abandoned catacomb. All this dead knowledge, useless to her as she lived and breathed and bled. There was nothing in these books that could tell her how to win against Romnuk, how to live with herself. There weren't answers to these questions. Why hadn't Scorpius tried to talk sense into her? Perhaps he had just become resigned to watch her burn through the ridiculous fever dreams she threw herself into.

The books felt unusually heavy in her arms, not just because of their weight, but because they lingered with a sticky maleficence. She wished she had wrapped them up in something for the long walk back down to the dungeons. They needed to be hidden. She knew there were things inside these books that were _worse_ than the Killing Curse, worse even than what she had suffered under Romnuk's hammer. But she needed to know what was in them, whatever that might mean for her soul.

As she rounded the corner leading to the Slytherin common room, she jarred to a halt. Her cousin was standing there, black hair curling in every direction, green eyes flashing, parchment clenched in his hand. Rose almost dropped the stack of books.

Something about Albus standing there unsettled her. She couldn't make sense of the parchment—a letter perhaps, with bad news? Her mind was already racing with the worst. Their parents hadn't returned to the Castle yet. Something had happened—something _must_ have happened—and Albus was not in the state to handle any fragile news.

"Al—is something the matter?"

"Why were you in the Restricted Section?"

"Sorry?"

Albus' eyes were now on the books. Rose jerked them closer to her chest, so the cover of the book on top was tucked against her robes.

"I saw you in the Restricted Section."

She looked again and realised that the parchment in his hand was the Map. Then, she understood.

"Have you been spying on me?"

"Well, you never seem to tell me where you're going."

"I'm not the one who refuses to talk," she snapped back.

Suddenly, the alarm and sympathy she had felt leeched out of her. Anger flared in its place, brief and bright, burning her eyes. She was tired of being treated like his enemy. She had enough of those as it was.

The common room passage slid open, stone over stone, revealing Scorpius a moment later—a turtleneck jumper, loose pants, his wavy silver hair cresting like seafoam. He walked in the way a character may enter a stage during a scene, an air of expectation carried with him, as if the surprise wasn't entirely real. He was always so predictive. There was a moment where his grey eyes were calculating, placing together the pieces of the situation, before he seemed to read exactly what their argument was about.

"Hello Albus. I was just on my way out to find Rose," he said.

"I'm certain _you_ knew where she was," Albus replied coldly, spreading his anger evenly. "You two always seem to be scheming together."

Rose could actively see the effort it took Scorpius to contain himself—to avoid snapping or throwing a sarcastic comment. And by virtue of knowing him so well, she could tell what irked him about the accusation—it was almost _always_ she and Albus who schemed together. She and Albus made the plans, then sprung them on Scorpius, forcing him to play along. She and Albus were thick as thieves, while Scorpius had to always police their ideas. It was an unfair accusation, but Scorpius didn't bite.

"We're not scheming, Albus."

" _Then why was Rose in the Restricted Section_?"

Like the Restricted Section itself, it felt as if there were volumes within themselves that couldn't be shared; chapters that had been censored and shut tight. They couldn't explain what it meant to be a Slytherin. Even if they did, Albus would never understand. They both held back their breath, unable to even find a way to answer honestly.

"You two are keep a secret and I feel it—I'm outside. You've locked me out."

When had they all become so antagonistic, so hostile? Albus, of all people, who was their mediator, their peacekeeper.

" _Why_ were you in the Restricted Section?" he asked again, pestering now, his voice breaking with the effort to get back inside their circle.

"You won't like this," Rose said quietly. "But we're learning to fight. We're training."

"We're duelling."

"Just to practice. To get better at non-verbal magic."

"But why were you in the Restricted Section?"

"Why are you _hurting_ yourself?" Rose demanded, unable to keep it in her anymore. "Surely that's a more pressing question! And why won't you _tell_ us? It's _us_ , Al!"

"I'm not hurting myself," Albus huffed, rolling his eyes. "Well—I'm not for the reasons you think I am. I've been practicing too."

"What?"

"I've been practicing my Healing magic," he replied, yanking up his sleeve. His olive skin was marked with several ugly scars, all in different shades, all at different points of healing so they faded as they reached the crook of his elbow. "And it's worth letting the wounds scab a bit, or have them get infected, before I can try the spells I'm learning."

"You're using yourself as a guinea pig?" Scorpius replied, appalled.

This was far worse than anything _they_ had been doing.

"Well, I certainly can't ask _others_ to volunteer, can I?" he snapped, pulling his sleeve back down. "And while you're both running duelling, I'm trying to be practical about what we'll be up against. It's all well and good if you kill a bunch of goblins, but that won't save you from sepsis."

It was like a boa had loosened its grip around Rose's heart. They were more on side than she thought they were. Albus had been pushing himself just as hard as she and Scorpius had.

"That's smart," Rose said. Her tone had changed from reproachful to encouraging, coaxing. "In fact, I'm surprised you didn't fill us in earlier. If you want to practice on me, I'm all for it."

"No." Scorpius faced them both, pale and drawn. There was no relief or excitement. "No. We're going to take a break from all this. Like a proper holiday."

"Scorpius—"

"It's the last few weeks of the bloody summer! We're not going to talk about duelling or healing spells or study sessions or the blasted Restricted Section. And _no one_ is going to hurt themselves. Until September the first, we just hang out."

"Hang out?"

"Yes. That's what people our age are meant to do."

"But we're at war."

"We're at _school_ ," Scorpius said slowly. "There's no reason for us to burn ourselves out."

While the tension in their trio had now redirected at Scorpius, it bounced off him like a wall. He took the books from Rose's stiff arms. He planted them on his hip and nodded at both cousins with an air of finality.

"Bed time. And tomorrow, we do something fun."

"Scorpius—"

"I _demand,_ " he said, through a clenched jaw, "that we all have _fun_."

* * *

Scorpius thought better than leaving the books on the table, where one of the other Slytherins may find them. Instead, he placed them all on the wall-to-floor bookshelf on the far right of the room. No one ever went through that shelf, so at least there they would hide in plain sight.

When he turned, he noticed that Rose had followed him inside the common room and was standing with her back to the sofa. He bit the corner of his cheek, wondering whether he was about to have another row, or whether she would have a go at him for demanding they have fun.

But Rose didn't begin to argue or mock. She just stood there, arms crossed behind her back and out of sight. They stood there, drinking in the quiet of their common room. A school of silver fish darted by the dark windows, but otherwise, the space was still. The fire was crackling low in the grate, its fingers curling around the last few logs. They were both very quiet, and turned to the bookshelf, their attention falsely held by the scattered books. Trying to seem judicious, Rose crossed to the shelf and ran her finger down the spine of one, _The Serpent's Dark Secrets: Slytherin Through the Ages_ , as if she was contemplating opening it.

Instead, she looked up, and found that Scorpius was already looking at her. His expression was tender and his grey eyes were easy to read for once. It occurred to Rose how much he had changed in the last few years. Not just in the sharpness of his jaw, or how he had filled out his scrawniness into the lithe body of a young man, but that he was no longer so guarded and cool, that there was warmth and gentleness found in the moving marble of his face. He had become brave in the choice to express his emotions and pull down the armour around his heart. He had grown up to be someone she admired.

She wasn't sure what to say as she met that look. It felt as if a veil had been pulled off of her, like a statue now exposed. Allowing herself to be consumed in the preparation for battle and the fantasies of revenge had completely clouded her vision of the present—that this boy, steadfast and good, had bent to her every fancy, had fulfilled all her whims, had supported her even while she spiralled into her own self destruction. He was there, with the same look she had been missing—tender and patient and kind.

Having finally returned this gaze, he seemed to realise how startled she was. As if she had pulled the blinders off and was seeing properly for the first time.

"It's late. Let's just go through these tomorrow, shall we? Best we just go to sleep."

Rose watched him as he tucked the books firmly into the shelf, ran his thin fingers through his silver waves and then headed across the stone chamber, towards the deep-set staircase that led to the dormitories. As he turned, Rose finally found her voice.

"I don't remember when we last kissed," she said, to his back. He stalled by the sofa, resting a hand on it as if to anchor himself there. She kept prowling her thoughts, trying to work her way back into the swampy marshes of her memory. "I mean, I remember that we kissed a little while after Meredith died," she said, the conclusion of the sentence so blunt she had to choke her way around it, "you know, when I stupidly tried to sleep with you and you stopped me. But before that—I don't remember the last time we kissed when we were happy. I was trying to remember the other night and it's faded now. And I'd really like to remember the last time we were happy, you know?"

Scorpius seemed to sit on this a moment, not moving, not turning around. She wondered if he was thinking, too. Whether he couldn't remember either. As if everything that was _before_ Meredith was a fog, a blur, something that felt like lifetimes ago. Maybe he didn't remember either, and those days were lost.

But Scorpius did turn around, and a faint smile was playing at the corners of his cherub lips. He shook his head a little and had to stifle a laugh. "The last time we kissed, the last time we were happy," he corrected, his eyes lost in the memory, "was after that atrocious Valentine's Day party Bellucci threw. We caused a dramatic scene and then stormed out into the hall afterwards, all giggles. We went back into the common room. I was standing exactly there, by the window, opposite you. You took off your shoes and were holding them in your left hand because they were the ones that give you blisters. And you placed your right hand on my chest and leaned in to kiss me. It was really quick, just a goodnight kiss. Just a habit by then, like you'd be kissing me goodnight for the rest of our lives. And then you went downstairs to go to sleep. That was the last time," Scorpius smiled, pressing his lips together.

Rose remembered it too, now. She had been filled with such warmth, such certainty. Kissing Scorpius had given her such clarity. It had been months since then.

"Goodnight, Rose," he sighed, turning back again and heading down to the seventh year dormitories, taking the memory with him and leaving her alone beneath the great grimy window panes. She was sure that somewhere in the world, someone was being kissed with warmth and clarity and simplicity.

But not her, and not here.

* * *

Scorpius had promised a day of fun, whatever that meant, and for most of the morning he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was off scheming, pulling together some odd fanfare to raise morale. Albus and Rose were both brought together once more by the outlandishness of this design, for what was Scorpius' classification of fun? Albus mused that they may spend the entire evening playing chess.

For the first time since the summer began, Albus and Rose were at ease with one another. Albus had dropped his edginess. Without the tension, Scorpius' insistence that they have a day of fun felt unnecessary. But when they located him in the Great Hall after breakfast, he was already on his way out and refused to stop and talk.

The pair of cousins decided to check on Stella Bellucci, to make sure they hadn't left her to descend into madness. There wouldn't have been any point inviting Scorpius along for input. He was still openly disapproving of her involvement in the apparently ridiculous plan to create a counterfeit Philosopher's Stone.

When they opened the door to her tower, they found her surprisingly content. Stella was humming under her breath as she sat crossed legged in front of the cauldron. Several half finished tests flasks encircled it. They approached her cautiously, wands extended.

"Visitors!" she trilled, "Visitors who aren't house-elves. How marvellous."

She smiled charmingly, but it only made her seem more deranged.

"How's the potion?"

"Can't you see? Can't you see how hard I'm working on this little number here, hmm? Working hard for my little tyrants."

And she was surprisingly obedient, swirling her wand over the filmy surface of the brew. There was no slyness in her eyes, no attempts for escape or attack. It was quite the change.

"I'll need some brass scales soon," she added, sprinkling what looked like salt into the mixture. "And I'll also need my potion kit from the storeroom. It has everything I'll need for proper alchemy—proper alchemical processes."

"Alright then. We'll just leave you to—"

"Oh, no! No, no, no, I want some company! I want to chat, to have a word or two. All alone up here, all day, I only get to see elves when I have my daily meal. No, no, no, you can't leave."

"You can talk to yourself."

Bellucci finally pointed her wand at them, her lip quivering. It was like a child on the brink of throwing a tantrum.

"I just want to _talk_."

"Here's a question, then," Albus said, not lowering his own wand. "Why aren't you trying to escape?"

"Oh, do you really think I haven't thought about it? Silly, silly boy. What do you think were to happen if I did escape? If I got out of this castle, out of these grounds? Where will I go? I am a prisoner to the wizards, I am a threat to the goblins. No matter where I go, they will kill me. Even if I tried to run, tried to leave, all those refugees fled because of _my_ potions. They would string poor Stella up, oh yes they would, they would kill me. No, I'm quite safe here."

"You could go into hiding," Rose mused. "You could behave like a muggle and disappear."

Stella slowly widened her eyes. "Are you mentally sound, silly girl? Stella Bellucci pretend to be a _muggle_? What ever for? Who would recognise me? Who would know who I am, know what I've achieved, what I've created? How could I be a great Potioneer among muggles? No, no. That would be worse than death, wouldn't it? Far worse."

"I suppose you're stuck here then."

"Until I make the Stone—yes, yes. Then I will walk free because the Stone will save me—the Stone will make me famous again and everything else will be quite forgiven."

She settled back in front of the cauldron, smiling to herself as she gave it a stir. Her willowy arm moved slowly above the surface of the brew, slow and rhythmic circles.

"She's gone absolutely batty, hasn't she?" Rose muttered. She nodded for the door. "C'mon."

"Wait—wait! Children, will you visit me again? Check on the progress of the potion of course, but visit me again?"

"We sure will. You hang tight now, Stella."

* * *

"Visitors," Reuben Reid croaked as Victoire slammed her way into Charlie's cabin. She moved like a hurricane, like she always had somewhere she needed to go next, and only hesitated a moment to peer into the kitchen where Reid sat, hunched over a bowl of porridge.

"Where's Selima?"

"Sleeping. No hello? Not very well mannered, are you."

Victoire ignored him. She had heard all about Reuben Reid from her husband, and perhaps his bias had coloured the recounts, but she still had little sympathy for him. Instead, she walked over to Charlie's bedroom and stuck her head in, murmuring through the door. Only when she clicked it shut did she turn back to Reid.

"Where's Charlie?"

"He left earlier. Said it was an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?"

"I'm not privy to details, sweetheart."

Victoire moved over to the small dining table, all her hot energy now focused on Reid, like a magnifying glass refracting sunlight. The formidable beauty of her face was terrifying. "You're going to die soon anyway. No one will care when you die. But there are people I care about who could die any minute, so if there's some sort of emergency that could pull Charlie away from his dragons, I want to know."

Reid stared at her for a few beats, assessing the fierceness in her face. He clucked his tongue and took a rasping breath. "If only you were the Metamorphmagus. We'd have no problems."

Victoire held him there, the look in her eye prying him open. Reuben Reid shrugged, as if the secret didn't matter.

"You grandfather's died. Charlie left to try and make it there before he dies, but he got the message earlier today that he's on death's door. Sorry to tell you."

Victoire blinked at him, rapidly and quickly. She lowered herself carefully into a chair.

"He just died? From old age or—"

"Don't know the details," Reid barked.

"Mm."

They were both quiet for a moment in the stillness of the kitchen. They studied the bowl of fruit on the table between them. It wasn't appropriate to share grief with a stranger who already had his own foot in the grave.

Selima poked her way into the kitchen, stretching. She took in their stern silence.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Come on," Victoire said, pushing out of her chair. She tapped Reuben Reid's shoulder. "Let's go."

"What?"

"For a walk. Teddy said it's good to get out in the sun for a little while, and I'm making the rounds."

"I'm not in a state to walk."

"D'you wanna die locked up in this room bitter and spent? Or do you want to die having walked through an open field feeling free for the first time in your life?" Victoire demanded. "Because you are."

The women walked ahead of Reid. Victoire picked up a bloody goat carcass on the way, shouldering it, her arms strong and sinewy with muscle. Blood dribbled down her pale back and Selima dabbed it up with her thumb, sucking it dry like a baby that needed to self soothe.

And Reid followed them. It felt like his lungs were on fire. Each breath he drew was painful and sharp. He could feel the poison spreading with all the energy he was exerting. The sky was too bright, the light piercing his eyes in painful beams. He wondered why she had tortured him like this. He could've just stayed behind, in the hut, solitary.

"How much longer? You shouldn't have told me to walk with you if it was so far," he grunted, struggling now.

Victoire flicked her head back, her hands clenching the ribbons of red flesh hanging across her back. She halted to let him catch up. Selima paused to study him. There was pity in her eyes, which meant it was easier to look at Victoire's disdain.

"Not much further," she said. She didn't have sympathy for him. He was an Unspeakable, and from the few details Teddy had divulged, he had done Unspeakable things while working for the Ministry. There was no sympathy—just a desire to purge him before he was gone.

They came to a field that had far less security than the other enclosures. An enormous, pale dragon had its head dipped near the lake. A big lizard, harmless looking, toothless, tired, defeated.

Selima stopped beside Reid and watched as Victoire got right up to the beast, lowering the long slab of meat right near its teeth. The blind dragon didn't even blink. It's snout twitched. Victoire ran her fingers over his scales, prying at his gums to try and get his maw open. He kept his teeth fused shut. Victoire gave up, taking a seat beside his thick hide and laying a hand on its neck.

Selima sat down too, still keeping her distance, and Reid followed. He was relieved to sit. He was exhausted from the short walk. He was too scared to take his gloves off and see how far the poison had spread—up his arms, no doubt, close to his torso. The pain was still sharp, lightning in his veins. Like the old, scarred dragon, he too knew he was dying.

The sun was beginning to set over the rolling hillside, casting everything in mauve hues. A rosy sea of grass, brilliantly lit. Victoire didn't move from the dragon. After a while, Selima spoke.

"It's the one that the Golden Trio escaped on, back during the second Great War," she said, gesturing at the dragon. "He's lived here for a long time. He's suffered."

You could tell that his suffering was still coursing through him. The dragon's sightlessness was a tragedy. He could not see the beautiful blush of the sunset overhead. But Reid could and he felt a strange rush of gratitude—one he had not really thought he would ever feel. It was a beautiful sunset.

Victoire walked towards them, looking grim. The dragon was completely still.

"He's not eating?" Reid asked.

"He's died," Victoire replied, frowning. "I had a feeling it was coming. I wanted to see if Charlie might've known what to do. I thought maybe if we got the goat into him…but he was old. I guess it was his time."

"Ah."

"Let's get back to the cabin. It's getting dark."

The returned back to the cabin was sombre. Selima walked beside Victoire again. No one spoke at all. Every step was agony for Reid, but he said nothing. He had lived a strange life, one that was oddly amoral. He had joined the Order because a man in his position had nowhere else to go once the Ministry collapsed. Because he had spent a lifetime being used for other people's purposes, and using other people for his purposes. He had no family, no friends, no one to lean into. Even that dragon had died among friends.

He wondered if his time with the Order had made any difference. He wondered whether it had put right any of the wrongs he had let happen. He had a sudden surge of regret that he would not be alive to see what would happen next—whether the rebels would triumph. He wished he would be around to see the ending.

That night, in his sleep, Reuben Reid would die. All of his questions would remain unanswered.

* * *

As they headed back down the spiral staircase, tucking their wands away, Rose sensed Albus' uneasiness. Knowing it was better to ignore those moods, she broke the silence between them.

"What's on your mind?"

"Is it fair to leave Bellucci up there, solitary, all the time?" he asked, frowning. "She's lost her marbles."

"She's a murderer, Al," Rose said slowly. "Because of her potions, all those Werewolves are dead. She killed them. She was paid to come up with the weapon for them."

"I suppose."

"You can't be so soft," Rose warned, shaking her head.

"You shouldn't be so bitter. Let's go find Scorpius, shall we?"

They returned to the Dungeons. Rose checked the common room, but he wasn't inside. She even went down into the chamber beneath the boy's lavatories, but he wasn't in there either. It was like he had vanished.

"This is odd, isn't it?" Rose frowned, following Albus back out into the grounds, heading to the greenhouses. "He can't have just disappeared."

He wasn't in any of his usual places—the greenhouses or the lake, and the library was just as bare. As they returned back to the Great Hall in time for lunch, quite exhausted from their search, they could hear the sound of Celestina Warbeck warbling through the Entrance Hall.

Puzzled, they pushed their way through the doors to find that their usual dinning area had been quite transformed. The teacher's platform had been cleared. The long table had been pushed against the wall. Instead, it was being used as a stage. Most of the students and a great deal of the Hogsmeade inhabitants were sitting on the benches, avidly watching as James Potter moved across the stage. He was wrapped in a vibrant feather boa, his wand pressed to his throat as he crooned over Celestina in a throbbing voice. Lorcan Scamander stood just behind him, head ducked with a bowler hat on, providing the husky back up vocals.

" _Oh, sure, you're quite the dancer, swept me off of my feet. But back here on the ground, I see a liar and cheat._ "

"What the hell is going on?" Rose demanded.

 _"You can't have my heart!"_

Lorcan jumped in beside James for the finale, _"No, no, no, you stole her cauldron."_

 _"You stole my cauldron, but you can't have my heart!_ " James concluded, throwing his head back as he belted the final note. The room filled with applause. Both the young men held hands and took their bow.

Scorpius moved onto the stage, pressing his own wand into his neck as he read off his parchment. "Next up on this round are Slytherin Duo, Alice and Belle, singing Spellbound's number one hit, 'Poison.'"

Isabella dragged Alice onto the stage as Scorpius darted by them, the second girl looking quite reluctant to be standing up there about to sing a pop song from the nineties.

Scorpius carefully dropped the needle on the gramophone, then spotting the two new guests, wove down the aisle to meet them.

 _"A guy like you should wear a warning, you're poison."_

Scorpius winced then plastered a bright smile on his face.

"Was worried you two would miss all the good acts."

"What the hell is this?"

"Magical Karaoke. I had to get permission from Professor Longbottom this morning. But he was quite pleased with the idea. Said I should invite everyone from Tent City along as well. It's going rather splendidly. Mind you, James may have destroyed my love for Celestina Warbeck, but it's all worth it."

"This is madness," Rose said shaking her head slowly.

"Madness is Alice Lim performing a Spellbound song," Albus grinned.

Alice was far less enthusiastic than her partner, Isabella, but she was holding her own on the vocals.

"You could come sit up the front. We have Tallulah up next, but then Hugo is performing after her," Scorpius said, consulting his list.

It was the kind of silliness that usually took place in Common Rooms during Christmas Holidays, where the Castle was a lonely playground for its left over students. It was a giddy sort of humour that floated beneath the cloudy ceiling. People whistled and applauded as the performances went on. Tallulah took bravely to the stage with a ballad from the Ministry of Madness, and Hugo stood up and sang an opera piece from _A Ghosts of Hippogriffs Past_ that made Scorpius tear up. It was the most bizarre way to pass an afternoon.

Yet, Rose was constantly finding herself in stitches—especially when their teachers participated. Hagrid sang a whole string of sea shanties a cappella. His gruff voice echoed through the room. Rose let her head fall on her cousin's shoulder. She smiled fondly at her boyfriend and tugged his arm. She motioned to herself then the list. "Does the gramophone play Muggle vinyls?"

"It should."

"Okay. Put me down for the next song. I'll be right back."

Rose had returned just as Hagrid was bowing to a smattering of applause. She skipped around Scorpius and straight onto the raised platform, dropping a vinyl record onto the player and carefully placing the needle down.

Then, she turned to face the hall as the music crackled to life.

"You all know me," she said, nervously running a hand through her short cloud of hair. There was something self-conscious and youthful in the gesture. "Maybe a few of you know Bowie. My family certainly does. So for anyone who would like to join me on this one, the invitation is open."

The first few chords were slow and spacey. Albus gripped Scorpius' arm like a vice, his face breaking into a grin. "God, yes. This was a good choice."

 _I, I will be king_

 _And you, you will be queen_

Scorpius frowned, trying to figure out where he recognised the husky words from.

 _Though nothing will drive them away_

 _We can beat them, just for one day_

 _We can be Heroes, just for one day_

Hugo was already getting up, jumping up onto the stage, grabbing his big sister's hand and twirling her as she belted the lyrics. Lily and James pelted after him, launching themselves up to several cheers from their friends.

It didn't matter that Rose's voice broke with the next lines, or that she couldn't hit the octave change. She pointed directly at Scorpius and Albus as she started the next verse.

 _And you, you can be mean_

 _And I, I'll drink all the time_

 _'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact_

 _Yes we're lovers, and that is that_

"Come on," Albus grinned, dragging Scorpius up. And as they mounted the stage, several others did as well. Everyone was up, even those who had no idea who David Bowie was or what the lyrics meant. But everyone seemed to know exactly what the lyrics meant.

 _"Though nothing will keep us together,"_ Albus sung.

 _"We could steal time, just for one day,"_ Rose replied.

 _We can be Heroes, forever and ever_

 _What d'you say?_

And Scorpius wished he knew the words, but with Rose, he didn't need to.

She took hold of his hands, swaying with him as she sang. He could feel the way her body throbbed to the music. And the silliness of the karaoke had worked. It had won out over the grisliness of their summer. It had shattered whatever wall she had stacked up around herself. She was wild again, as wild as she had been the day she danced with Meredith Maxwell after winning a game of Quidditch. She was full of abandon and she had never looked so beautiful.

Lorcan had dragged Isabella and Alice back onto the stage. James had dropped to his knees in an air guitar solo. Hugo and Lily ran forward to grab both of Rose's arms, Rose stumbling behind them like a drunk, throwing her head back and laughing. They launched her onto the teacher's table for the next chorus, so she was raised above those even on the stage, above it all.

 _"I, I will be king,"_ she sang.

 _"And you, you will be queen!"_ the others echoed.

 _Though nothing will drive them away_

 _We can be Heroes, just for one day_

 _We can be us, just for one day_

Rose had closed her eyes. It was like she was in another world, transcending above them. Like she was in her pyjamas dancing in the lounge room. Like she was on a stage before a concert's crowd. Her face was completely pulled into the passion of the words, launching her voice into a gravelly climax.

Albus wrapped his arm around Scorpius' shoulders. "Thank you for organising this. For finding the joy."

Scorpius smiled, the chords washing over the hall in rippling echoes. Rose had stopped singing. Eyes closed, feet planted on the table top, she swayed. It was hard to look away from her.

"One day," Scorpius said to Albus, "I'm going to marry her. And when I do, you'll be best man.."

 _I, I can remember_

 _Standing by the wall_

 _And the guns shot above our heads_

 _And we kissed, as though nothing could fall_

 _And the shame was on the other side_

 _Oh we can beat them, forever and ever_

 _Then we could be Heroes, just for one day_

* * *

"Do you hear that?" Ginny frowned, hesitating in the Entrance Hall. "Music."

"That sounds like…David Bowie," Harry said, shaking his head slowly. It reminded him starkly of Aunt Petunia changing radio channels, tsking about such obscene music from such an abnormal man. It reminded him of being a kid, sitting on the carpet on the rare days he was left alone at Privet Drive, watching music clips on the television set. It was not what you expected to hear after a funeral, after putting a man in a grave beside his late son. It was muted but thumping, like your heart in you ears after you run. Muggle but oddly magical. Ron stepped into the Castle, closing the door behind them.

"Music?" he asked.

"From the Great Hall," Ginny replied, wiping at her still puffy eyes.

"Come on."

They pushed into the Great Hall and were surprised by the state of things. Everyone was there, adults and children alike. Most of the room was up and dancing. Most of their children were on the stage. Rose was standing on the staff table, belting out the words. Pure and untouchable, like young gods, like giants.

 _We can be Heroes_

 _We can be Heroes_

 _We can be Heroes_

 _Just for one day_

 _We can be Heroes_

"It's Bowie," Ron said, the music dawning on him. "Hermione plays this all the time. She has all his records."

"It's Bowie," Harry sighed, his eyes welling with tears again. This day felt like an eternity, like a sun that would never set.

They were spotted. Dressed all in their black, at the door, eyes still red and puffy from tears. Rose had spotted them. And once she had spotted them, Albus had followed suit. They descended from their stage, meeting Harry, Ginny and Ron in the middle of the aisle. They took in their black attire and dispositions, deflated.

"Where's mum?" Rose asked, frowning at them all. "Where have you been?"

Ron wound his arms around Rose but couldn't speak. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Grandpa Arthur passed away," Harry said, knowing the others wouldn't be able to say it out loud.

There was a tense pause as Harry's words were digested by the children.

"That's why you left," Albus replied, his face tight with emotion. "That's why…"

Ginny pulled Albus in tightly to her chest, hugging him so hard she looked like she would crack his bones. Rose sighed very deeply. Ginny released Albus and hastily wiped her eyes.

"Sorry you couldn't be there. It was just too hard."

It was done, it was too late, there was no point arguing. He had been put into the ground. The spacey synthesizer breathed over the guitar and Bowie's voice strained it's final chorus, shrieking out the words.

"C'mon," Harry said, taking Ginny's hand and drawing her to him. He linked his hand around her waist and took the other to steer her into a dance. Ginny shook her head, defiant, but too weak to let go. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.

Albus smiled feebly. Rose laughed half-heartedly. Ron took both their arms and twirled them simultaneously.

 _We're nothing, and nothing will help us_

 _Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay_

 _But we could be safer, just for one day_

 _Oh-oh-oh-ohh, oh-oh-oh-ohh_

 _Just for one day_

* * *

 **A/N: I highly recommend listening to David Bowie's _Heroes_ (if you haven't already!) while reading that final segment. Tell me who/what you feel the story is missing right now in the reviews!**

 **An enormous thank you to my work and life bestie, Liv, for editing this chapter. I have never had a Ravenclaw edit my work, and she is meticulous. Thanks for diving into the Revolt so fast (after several years of me bullying you to read it). Soon, we shall be in a greenhouse together and the world will be right!**

 **In the meantime check out my instagram for updates on my arty things! vanscribbles**


	5. Chapter Four

**—CHAPTER FOUR—**

September arrived, but there were no train or carriages for students to catch or stories of summer holidays to share.

The Great Hall had two long tables, Hogwarts students and Hogsmeade residents lined up on either side. Neville spoke to the small crowd but it didn't feel like a welcome speech. There were no new first years to stumble in and anxiously be sorted, no house tables to sort to.

Following dinner, Rose and Scorpius received a note from a fourth year boy. Rose snatched it out of his hand and told him to shoo. They peered in to read it. And they new exactly why they had received it without needing to share a word.

 _Could I please see you both in my office after dinner? The password is my most prized possession. Professor Longbottom._

* * *

They arrived punctually, which was not a habit of Rose's but this occasion called for it. She didn't explain this to Scorpius, but being given the role of Head Girl felt like being crowned at a coronation; she had been raised with the expectation, groomed for the role. There was no excitement, just a quiet sense of duty.

"The password is Mimbulus mimbletonia," Scorpius said quietly to the stone gargoyle guarding the staircase. It stood to one side and let them pass.

"Did you ever expect to be standing here beside me?" Scorpius asked as the staircase began to move.

Rose studied him. She remembered acutely the dread that sat like lead in her stomach when he had entered the train carriage for their first prefect meeting. She had always pictured she and Albus becoming Head Girl and Boy. But somehow, that had changed. Her vision of leadership was linked inseparably with Scorpius.

"No," she said, turning away from him. "But I suppose that's what keeps life interesting."

Professor Longbottom was sitting behind his desk. It had been a while since either of the students had visited his office. It had several new plants lining the windowsill, none that Rose recognised. Professor Drummond's portrait slept quietly on the wall, his bald head bowed. Something inside of her stiffened.

"I think perhaps you should both have a seat."

Scorpius hesitated. The only tell on his face was a slight furrow of his brow. He did not sit so neither did Rose. Her attention returned from the portraits back to their current living and breathing headmaster—far younger than the witches and wizards preserved in pigment. By the tired expression on his face, something was wrong.

"So this isn't about Head Boy and Head Girl?" Scorpius probed.

"No, it is."

"Then…then why are you so morose?"

Rose glanced between them once more. It was like they had some sort of secret understanding. Slowly, she sunk into her seat. Scorpius remained standing.

"Look," Neville said, clasping his hands together. "You are both the clear pick for the role. Strong leadership as prefects, excellent marks, plenty of extracurricular. All in all, you've been quite impressive."

"Not to mention we've saved Hogwarts a bunch of times," Rose butted in hotly.

"Yes, well that's the problem, isn't it? Neither of you are particularly good at following the school rules."

Scorpius opened his mouth to protest, then shut it just as quickly.

This couldn't possibly be happening. Rose could feel the blood draining from her face.

"What we fear is that if it came down to it," Neville said cautiously, "you two would have a great deal of sway over the current students—more so than the teachers or even the Order, perhaps. That you may lead some sort of…"

"Revolt?" Scorpius said, raising his eyebrows.

Surely, this couldn't be happening. Rose was convinced this was some sort of elaborate prank.

"I have a soft spot for you both, as you very well know. Which is why I decided to be so frank. While it's all very good to have you working with the Order, we can't have you going above their heads again."

"We're not Head Boy and Head Girl?" Rose demanded, her face very hot.

"No. We decided to give that role to Mary Boot and Caleb Macmillan."

" _What_?"

"I believe they will lead the students well in matters related to the school's order, and nothing _beyond_ that."

"So you're frightened that we have more influence than the Order?"

"I am frightened that you think you are above the work of the Order. That just won't do. I'm very sorry, but under these circumstances, we can't give either of you that much power over the students. I hope you can gain enough perspective to recognise that."

* * *

It was about a quarter to eleven when Rose met Scorpius by the boys' lavatories. He had changed into his tracksuit pants and a pale blue t-shirt, an appearance that always made him look softer and younger. It made him look his age. He slapped the little black book against his hand and nodded towards the bathroom door.

Rose was still gutted by the news she had received earlier that night. It felt incredibly unjust to have the Head Girl badge dangled in front of her then snatched away. While he was hiding it much better, Scorpius must have felt similarly. His jaw was working a little more aggressively than usual.

They had to meet in secret first, so their dormitories and the common room were off limits. It would be safest to descend into Scorpius' most secret hiding place—no matter how painful Rose found it to return there. She examined the back of Scorpius' jaw as he unlocked it, letting out an inhuman hiss. Stone slid aside. She wondered what he was thinking beyond the mask of his face. Perhaps he blamed her wild antics for losing them the position.

They lit their wands, meeting at the bottom like creatures that had fallen down a well. Rose conjured a little ball of blue fire and Scorpius conjured a jar and she carefully lowered the light into the glass. The blue hues were ghostly, casting long shadows down each of the tunnels that led off from the chamber.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"The suspense is killing me," she replied, without humour. Carefully, Scorpius pulled away the chord binding the book and opened the black cover.

He thumbed through it. It was blank, except for the first few pages.

"That's odd," he frowned. Rose tucked her way in beside him, staring down intently at the first page of the book, embossed in an old script:

 _For The Serpent Bearers_

 _The Heirs of Slytherin in Blood and Spirit_

 _The Protectors of Tradition_

 _The Providers of Governance_

"You don't think it's true," Rose said, her voice struggling to remain steady. "All the rubbish about Salazar Slytherin writing this himself?"

"I don't know—but the Rules are on the next page."

 _LAWS_.

 _The Serpent Bearers are the heads of their House. The Seniors are their responsibility. The underlings are the responsibility of the Seniors. It is the Seniors duty to impart the values of Salazar Slytherin to the generations that follow them —_ _Ambition, Cunning, Resourcefulness, Fortitude, Fraternity and Preservation._

 _There shall be two Serpent Bearers, one of either sex, selected by the previous Seniors holding the title. They must be outstanding examples of Slytherin's values and principles._

 _It is their duty to sophronise the underlings in their charge, to uphold order and honour for the sake of their own integrity._

 _If an underling does not discipline himself, his superiors must discipline him._

 _All matters of discipline should be handled by the Serpent Bearers and should not be raised to the attention of the other Houses and their faculties._

 _Should there be need of witnesses, call on the Slytherin prefects or in the most extreme of circumstances, every member of the House._

 _The Serpent Bearers are solemnly sworn to secrecy._

 _TRIALS._

 _Seniors may wish to conduct trials as a means of imparting the values of Slytherin House to their underlings. These trials should be regulated._

 _Clause One: The female students are the dominion of the female Serpent Bearer, the same true in reverse for the males. There are no exceptions._

 _Clause Two: Trials must instruct the values of the House to the students and cannot be for sport._

 _Clause Three: Challenges may not interfere, intercede or involve housemates of the opposite sex or any challenge they must carry out, but must be independently overseen by their respective Serpent Bearer._

 _Clause Four: The boys cannot enter the girls' dormitories without the permission of the girls within. This is to be strictly enforced._

 _Clause Five: Trials must uphold the integrity of the House. Therefore, debauchery, licentiousness, drunkenness or torture is forbidden. Any behaviour deemed to be degenerate or dangerous is forbidden.  
_

 _ENFORCEMENT._

 _If an underling contravenes the Seniors' rules, the underling may be subject to punishment._

 _If the Senior breaches the rules, the Serpent Bearers must punish them before witnesses._

 _If the Serpent Bearers fail to enforce the rules, their integrity and life will be the recompense._

 _The Serpent Bearers must make an Unbreakable Vow to uphold the rules to the best of their capabilities._

 _The Serpent Bearers must sign their names below._

Rose swallowed hard, leaning away from the sixth page. She could feel her heart pulsing in her neck. It felt as if there were two fingers inside her throat, jabbing the skin in a frenetic rhythm.

A horrible recollection of all the awful things older students had ever done to her swarmed through her mind. She could tell by the thin line between Scorpius' eyebrows that he was lost in the same thoughts.

"So when they put pansy seeds on my bed…what value was that to impart?" Scorpius muttered. "To have me practice Self-Preservation?"

"Or when they made me eat food off the floor in first year after sitting with my cousins at the Gryffindor table; was that supposed to be a lesson in Fraternity?"

"They could justify almost anything," Scorpius said, his lip curling with disgust. Rose was surprised by his vehemence. He gripped the book hard in his thin fingers, the bones white at the joints. "There's nothing in here that says behave like thugs, but that's all they did. That's all I've ever known them to do."

And the entire thing seemed ludicrous, all the stupid rules listed in this pompous little book. Dramatic and childish, the work of children puffed with aplomb. Seventeen year olds taking themselves far too seriously.

And then there were those final lines, the part that neither of them wanted to acknowledge out loud. That made Rose's stomach turn.

It explained why Norton was so willing to submit to punishment back in Rose's fifth year. Why the boys had been so cowed when confronted by the girls. For the fag-masters to violate the rules and not accept punishment would directly contravene that final promise. It would mean death.

"I really don't know how I feel about this."

"I wouldn't want anyone else getting their hands on this book, though," Scorpius frowned. "And I know that we won't abuse our power."

"I suppose not," Rose said slowly.

"We should go to meet with the others. To make it official, I suppose. It's almost midnight."

It would be their first midnight raid, as the raiders. Waking up their roommates and taking them to the common room. Explaining to them this little book, what it meant, the structure behind the tyranny of their House. They would be the witnesses to their Unbreakable Vow. Rose felt the sweat spring up on her palms. The pounding in her neck had spread to her temple. Why hadn't she been sorted into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or even Hufflepuff?

But she dismissed the thought a moment later. She knew that if she were in any of those Houses, their world wouldn't make sense to her. As awful as this book was, what it had sanctioned throughout the centuries, she knew that it made perfect sense. And she knew she would sign her name to it.

* * *

"This is bollocks," Zabini scowled. He crossed his arms and leaning back in his chair, bare-chested and chin turned up.

They had forfeited the usual dramatic—instead, Scorpius and Rose had collected the remaining roommates in their dorms and led them to the common room, where they were seated around one of the large mahogany study tables. It felt inappropriate to undertake the usual tactics of their seniors past—masks, wands lit in the dark, mysterious conversations—but now Rose was regretting it. As stupid as it would have been, maybe it would have given them a bit more authority.

"So they were grooming you two all along," Alice said, her mouth puckering to the side.

There was a lot of scepticism. Rose was quietly thankful that the other girls in their dormitory had never returned to Hogwarts. Estelle and Sonia would have fought them the whole way.

"Can you read the rules again?" Toby Fleischer asked.

"We've already read them twice through," Scorpius said coldly. "It's simple. We all agree to do this now or we have to go to a vote."

"But who says you two are the best for the job?" Zabini snapped. "It won't be as tough for them as we had it."

"Bloody hell, Zabini! Anyone with a brain can tell they're the best for the job," Alice said, rolling her eyes. Quite resentful about it too.

"I don't think you want to do an Unbreakable Vow, Zabini," Isabella said, very quietly. "I don't think you'd be able to keep it."

The group fell silent for a little while longer, staring at the little black book between them.

"Fine," Zabini relinquished.

The others nodded. Scorpius looked pointedly at Isabella. "We need to do the Vow then."

Maybe wearing a silly mask and lighting the room with candles would have made Rose feel better. Or maybe not. Isabella extracted her wand. Her eyes darted between them.

Scorpius stood and Rose joined him, her hands sweaty again. They both kneeled before the great big windows where the Black Lake quietly sloshed against the glass. His face was intense but very still, only hinting at what must have been happening underneath. She wondered what her own face looked like.

They clasped right hands. Isabella hovered over them, her wand slowly lowering over their fingers and staying there.

"You start," Rose said, her throat dry.

"Okay," Scorpius said slowly, not taking his eyes off hers. He held her there. "Will you uphold the rules to the best of your capabilities as a Slytherin Serpent Bearer?"

"I will," Rose said, swallowing hard. "Will you uphold the rules to the best of their capabilities as a Slytherin Serpent Bearer?"

"I will," Scorpius replied, steady. From where the wand touched their hands, warmth raced its way up her arms to stop at her heart. It thudded a little harder, and then seemed to pace itself.

Scorpius stood first, without letting go of her hand, then pulled her up.

"You can all go back to bed now," he said, his voice very low. He didn't look up at them. His eyes were still staring at their clasped hands. His grip was so tight.

The others left, too unsettled to protest. Zabini was the last to walk out, traipsing down the steps with heavy feet. In their absence, the sound of the fire and the lake were amplified from either side. Scorpius stepped forward to close the space between them and kissed her very gently. One of his hands moved to her face, his fingers curling around the back of her neck. When they broke away, Rose again felt oddly as if they had reached the end of a wedding ceremony.

"We have to sign," she said, gesturing to the book.

"Mm. Right."

He moved away from her now, taking a stray quill and inkpot off the table and sliding it over to the book. Rose hovered behind him, watching. In his neat cursive, he signed his name. She took the quill and did the same, the letters round and blocky.

They watched as the ink slowly sunk into the parchment, then disappeared. They both raised their eyebrows. Of course, it made sense in a way, she supposed. So many Slytherins would have signed their names in this book, it would never store them all otherwise.

But to their surprise, new words seem to now fade back into the page.

 _(Prick your finger and press the blood into the parchment.)_

They were both silent. The words did not fade. They had certainly not been there to begin with.

Rose knew that her whole family would kill her for being intrigued, but she was. It was one of their number one rules to never trust a sentient object if you couldn't tell where it's brain was. If Ginny and Harry knew, they would have a field day.

The rest of the book was blank. Surely this was the key to unlock it.

"I don't like this," Scorpius said softly, showing his first signs of trepidation. "What's it going to ask us to do next?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Rose said, and she took her wand and lightly flicked it over her finger tip, opening the skin in a tight sliver. A paper cut. She let the drop of blood pool around the cut, then firmly pressed her finger into the page. It left a half formed scarlet red fingerprint that sunk slowly into the parchment.

The words didn't disappear. Scorpius sighed heavily and imitated his partner, pressing his own drop of blood against the page, like a single tear. Then, both the ink and the blood faded away.

Nothing happened.

* * *

Reuben Reid was cremated, which had been his request. When Hermione arrived, his body had already been turned to ash. The thick, grainy ashes had been scattered down by the lake, near where the corpse of the Ukrainian Ironbelly remained. It would be taken apart by the handlers, its teeth and scales sold to apothecaries to keep the Sanctuary's revenue up. What was left would be cremated, too.

Hermione took the news that the dragon had died a little harder than the news that Reid had died. Charlie felt the same.

Death was hanging around the Sanctuary—it was swollen with it like riverbanks about to burst after rain. The dragon, Reid, the news of Arthur Weasley. It was almost like a physical presence, unwanted, standing in the corners of the room with his scythe and silky robes.

And while they were grieving, this did not spare Victoire and Teddy a grim meeting in Charlie's cabin.

"I'm surprised you came. I was expecting Harry."

"There's no way Harry would ask this of you," Hermione said. She looked like she was about to do something very unpleasant—the way the handlers did when they had to kill the goats for afternoon feeds.

"So, it's the same request you sent Reuben here for. To guilt trip me. It didn't work," Teddy replied, his voice cold. His eyes flashed at Victoire, then stayed firm on his aunt. "Sorry, but my answer won't change."

"What's this about?"

"You didn't tell Victoire?"

"Of course I didn't. This was my decision. I'm not letting you lot talk me into it."

"We wouldn't ask unless—"

"Unless you were desperate. Reid told me it was Harry who wanted me down there, but that was a lie, wasn't it?" Charlie and Hermione said nothing. Teddy went on, bitterly reading their expressions like the instructions on a bottle of poison. "That's what forced you to come here. Harry would never ask me this. Harry knew I would say no."

"Say no to what?"

"They want me going under cover into the gangs at Hogsmeade to gather information on Romnuk the Rough. And I'm no going to do it. Not just because I'll wind up poisoned, but because I refuse to use my magic to play espionage anymore. I don't see how any good will come of this."

Victoire was silent. He could tell she was working her jaw, keeping back careful words. He could tell she was somewhere between concern and indignation. Hermione seemed the same way.

"It's a lot to ask of Teddy," Victoire finally said, the words minced behind her teeth. Her husband was surprised that she defended him.

"There's another request. One that's coming from Bill and Fleur, actually."

Teddy shook his head. Don't do that, he wanted to say to Charlie. Don't try to use her parents against me. He was so tired of the politics, right down to his family. But Charlie plunged on anyway.

"We're going into Gringotts soon. We just need a Gringotts Goblin willing to break into the vaults. And even the goblins on the Order refuse to do that."

"You're our key," Hermione implored him. "You won't need to fight. We just need you to get in."

Teddy leaned back in his chair, teetering on the back legs, as if he could physically get away from the suggestion. Victoire leaned in.

"Has a date been set?"

"Not exactly."

"But we'll both be heading back after we get your answer."

"Both?"

Charlie licked his lips. "There are dragons in the vaults of the Ministry. And they aren't all too friendly."

"Then you'll need me, too."

"Vic," Teddy muttered.

"If they need Charlie then they'll need me too. You'll need extra hands. Extra soldiers. And I am particularly good with dragons."

Teddy inhaled deeply. This would be how they would get him. Once Victoire left, he couldn't stay behind. They both knew it, and maybe she did too. Her stubbornness irked him. But maybe he couldn't hide from the fight forever.

"Mate, let's leave the ladies for a minute to have a word," Charlie said, motioning for him to join him in the living room. Teddy scraped back the chair, legs squealing.

He was preparing for some great, big speech convincing him that it was the true time to rebel, to join a revolution. That this would right all his past wrongs, his misplaced trust. But Charlie only dug around in his pocket to extract something that glinted gold.

"Hold out your hand."

He dropped two rings into Teddy's palm. They were carved with fine Latin words.

 _Legum servi sumus,_ the first ring said.

 _Ut liberi esse possimus,_ the second completed.

"We are slaves of the law so that we may be free," Teddy translated out loud.

"Reid asked me to give these to you once he had died. An odd gesture, but I don't think he had anyone to bequeath belongings to in a will."

Out on the fields not far from Charlie's cabin, there was a dragon that had once escaped from Gringotts. A forlorn carcass picked by vultures. It wasn't even a few days old before they started swooping.

* * *

There were so few students remaining at Hogwarts that the sixth and seventh years had a combined inter-house class. Those in the years below had a combined intermediate class. Even when joined, the numbers were still smaller than usual. It was easy to spot when two students were late.

"You two look like you need coffee. Or a Stunning Spell," Albus frowned, assessing his two best friends as they entered the Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"Give us a break. We were up all ni-ni-night," Rose yawned.

"Gross. I don't need to know the details."

Scorpius rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Then don't pry into our nocturnal habits."

And maybe it wasn't bravado, because Scorpius had his hand wrapped around Rose's shoulders—and he didn't move it.

Harry entered the classroom and all conversation of nocturnal habits ceased. All the desks were against the walls, as they had been in his lessons at the end of last term. Yet, Harry said something that seemed sacrilegious in his lessons. "Wands away."

Everyone blanched. Zabini didn't put his wand away, as if he was expecting the request to turn into a joke.

Harry drew to the other side of the room, to where an umbrella stand had gone unnoticed. It was filled with two dozen wooden staffs. Harry pulled one of them out and tossed it from hand to hand.

"This Defence Against the Dark Arts class will be a little different," Harry said, his mouth settling into a grim smile. A bit too caustic to be a grimace. "Defence, yes. Dark Arts, not so much."

The door opened again and everyone's heads swivelled. A short, slightly ageing goblin entered. His dark glittering eyes scampered over the surprised faces, then turned stoically to Harry. Rose felt herself tense. No matter how often she had been told to trust Orlick, she simply couldn't. She saw Orlick and felt a desire to hurl every curse she knew. She felt both Albus and Scorpius make the same adjustments—readying their stances, hands tucking into pockets so they could discretely find their wands again. Maybe it was reflexive, maybe it was intentional. It didn't matter.

"This is Orlick. He has kindly volunteered to share some of his knowledge today."

He attempted a smile, his puckered lips twitching, then brushed his spindly fingers through his parted wavy hair. Orlick's nerves were betraying him.

"It is important that you know how to fight, not just with wands, but with weapons. Wands are still unfamiliar tools to Goblins," Harry said. He spoke with clarity and authority, as if his tone could blanket the unease of the students. "They will always default to a sword if they can. You should all be prepared."

Orlick took one of the staffs distastefully, but didn't utter a word of protest. Harry waved his wand, sending out the remaining staffs to the students. They whirled through the air like batons, stoping before each person. Rose clasped hers tightly.

Orlick turned to address the classroom. "Copy my stance, like so. Dominant foot forward. Grip your weapon like so. Mr Potter, would you please demonstrate with me? Yes, just like that. Do not hesitate. Read your opponent and strike."

"Pair off," Harry said, gesturing to the rest of the class. "One on offence, one on defence."

Mary Boot shuffled towards Rose, twirling her staff nervously. "Do you want to pair up?"

Rose glanced at the boys, who were already facing one another. She nodded and moved towards Mary.

"A fight to the death will only last minutes. You are not trying to hit your opponent's sword—you are trying to hit your opponent. This is the most common mistakes wand-bearer's make."

Rose couldn't help but feel irked when she knew firsthand that goblins had no idea how to properly use wands. She clutched her wooden staff tightly in her hands, glaring at the instructor, not her opponent.

"How useful is this going to be useful?" Zabini demanded, turning his back on Naomi Bones. "We don't even own swords."

"You never know when you may need to fight without a wand," Orlick replied, cold and crisp. "The reality is, none of you are prepared to fight a goblin. That is your most imminent threat, so it is time to prepare."

* * *

Rose was lying on the seventh years' sofa, her feet in Scorpius' lap. He was reading, totally immersed. She was flipping her thumb through the little black book, tucked inside a larger textbook to hide its presence. The common room was quiet. A third and fourth year were playing chess by the window. Alice was sketching Isabella the way professionals did, raising the pencil to measure her face, closing one eye, then returning to the parchment. A fifth year was reading a book about Goblin Knights, perhaps extended reading from Defence.

Again, she thrummed her thumb over the pages, like she was strumming a harp. So many were blank. It didn't really make sense.

She reached over and scavenged for a quill and inkpot from her bag, precariously setting them up on the floor. She reached over to filled her ink, kicking Scorpius in the stomach by accident, then settling back into her comfortable position. Perched before the first blank page.

 _Goblin Riots_ she wrote, underlying the words as a title, then preparing to write down the tactics they would be using to train their students. At least she could use it as a good reference.

But words appeared beneath, without her putting quill to paper.

 _What do you need to know about them?_

Rose blanched. She had watched ink dissolve into the page since first signing her name but she hadn't expected words to reappear. Was this some sort of Encyclopaedia? She stared at the words until they slowly faded again. She scrawled a new line.

 _We're having goblin riots presently._ And then, to really test the sentience of the thing, she added, _How did this all start?_

The book didn't respond right away. She paused, on edge, and felt her heart squeeze when the words slowly appeared.

 _The Goblin rebellions can all be traced back to a single root cause—the Sword of Gryffindor. When Ragnuk the First created the sword, he coveted it so much he wished to steal it back from Gryffindor._

She knew this, she wanted to say. This was just a history lesson. But before she decided to close the book, she noticed the handwriting change. Suddenly, it was long and swooping, almost like calligraphy.

 _Gryffindor defended himself from the assailants and vowed that he would unsheathe the sword against them all if they every attacked him again. This vow is imbued in the very nature of the weapon._

New words appeared in Old English. Rose could hardly understand them. Baffled, she started in surprise as they began to unravel, letters shifting and moving, offering her a translation.

 _It caused great enmity. The other Founders were not impressed with Godric for commissioning the Goblins. Salazar especially defied Godric's decision. It was arrogance to want a sword so powerful when one could simply wield a wand against a Muggle._

Whatever this little black book was, it could really think for itself. Then, to her absolute shock, her own handwriting appeared (her exact messy scrawl, even the idiosyncratic way she wrote her w's) without her having ever written the words.

 _You know all this already._ It said.

Withdrawing her legs off of Scorpius, she crouched on the sofa, book still on her knees.

"What?" Scorpius asked.

She held the book out for him to read, her eyes very wide. He studied it, his eyebrows pinched. She could tell he was running through scenarios, trying to puzzle out the way it worked.

"I didn't write that last line," Rose said quietly. "It just appeared, along with the others. But that's—"

"Your handwriting, yes."

Scorpius picked up a quill and wrote across the page:

 _What is the best way to defeat a goblin?_

The answers appeared, all in different handwriting, squabbling down the page.

 _It would be wise not to challenge a goblin to begin with._

 _Would you be using a sword or a wand? To be equipped with both would be best._

 _During the goblin rebellions of the 1600s, all advanced Defence classes studied non-contact duelling. This would require using the environment against the goblin rather than direct spells._

They were silent a little longer. Scorpius licked his lips. "I would presume this is why we had to add our blood. It needed our essence to sustain the enchantments. It's almost like a hive mind, a collective intelligence issued by every Slytherin who has ever been a Serpent Bearer. Which now includes us."

"You mean…some of these answers may be from _Merlin_ himself?"

"Or Horace Slughorn. Or Stella Bellucci. Or Bellatrix Lestrange. Or…"

"Tom Riddle," Rose said quietly.

Their eyes met again. Being privy to this book felt dirty again. Scorpius snapped it shut and tucked it away, inside the pocket of his robes. He looked furtively around the room to check no one had overheard.

"This isn't like a Horcrux, is it?" Rose whispered, her voice a mixture between panic and excitement.

"No, surely not. We didn't have to _murder_ anyone to sign this book. Although, it does make me wonder whether it inspired Riddle's diary."

Scorpius absently patted the book, where it sat in his breast pocket. Maybe he was uneasy with it sitting so close to his heart.

"The magic on this must be quite Dark though—dangerous," he said. "Similar to that Map Albus owns. Or even like the portraits in Headmaster's office. A shadow of us on parchment. But it is a part of us."

Rose stared in a daze at the two younger students playing chess by the window. The fourth year had just taken the third year's second rook. With a start, Rose remembered her name—Betty Fink.

"We need to work out how we're going to instruct the rest of the House. We have a responsibility to prepare them. To make sure they know how to fight."

"Darling—"

"Don't try that tone. It's bloody patronising."

His voice was harder now. "They're not our army, Rose."

"That goblin was right. None of us are prepared to fight a goblin. And they won't be teaching the fourth and fifth years what they're teaching us."

"Probably for good reason."

"Who are we going to be, Scorpius? Are we going to be cowards like Slughorn? Leaders like Merlin?"

"Tyrants like Tom?" Scorpius countered, dropping his voice further. "You do realise this must have been _exactly_ how the Death Eaters began."

"We're not Death Eaters, Scorpius. _You've_ always said we were the good guys—"

"I never pretended it was that simple, Rose. This isn't good guys battling bad guys. I never agreed with Gladstone and I never liked where the goblin movement was going but I never assumed they were all evil."

"It doesn't matter!" Several people's heads turned in their direction. Rose lowered her voice again, her face flushed. She was willing Scorpius to listen to her with a face trembling full of effort. "They need to be prepared, Scorpius. Don't you understand? Whether they're bad guys or not, this world is full of _danger_ and we need to learn how to defend ourselves."

Scorpius knew exactly where the emotion was surging from. They hadn't been prepared in Hogsmeade and it had cost the life of one of their own. There would be no point arguing with her, not when Meredith could always be used to win the argument. And in any case, her vehemence aside, she was right. They did have a duty to their underlings. They did need to be prepared.

"Alright," Scorpius said, snapping the black book shut. He tucked it into his breast pocket. "I agree with you. We should start training them. You take the girls and I take the boys. We should start with our own peers first then work our way down to the younger ones. We need a system. We need Generals and Lieutenants and structure."

It was set then, whether they were ready for it or not. The time was coming where they would be the midnight raiders.

* * *

They were a little bit like celebrities, the way they had been _before_. When snogging at a Quidditch match was enough to land them in the papers. It was the same, their return to the Leaky Cauldron. Most people had not seen them since the wedding. Victoire and Teddy entered with an air of luminary hush. With Charlie and Hermione by their sides, people stared.

They were wrapped in strange robes with woven prints and tassels. Victoire's hair had turned silver from the days of sun. Teddy's was a thick, plush purple—more serious than his cheerful blue. They didn't smile. They looked around the room with sharp, shrewd eyes. The stripped back bar, all alcohol gone; the barrels of preserved food; the goblins sitting alongside humans, hunched over blueprints and parchment. Not a bar at all really.

"I'd like to see the barricade," Victoire said, taking off her robe and throwing it over an arm. "Would you show us?"

Hermione nodded, leading them through the bar out into the courtyard, tapping the bricks with her wand. People stared after them until they were out of sight.

"No attempts to break down the barrier?" Teddy asked.

"A couple when it first went up, but nothing worked," Hermione replied. "The magic on this wall is pretty air tight."

When they saw it, it was the first time their grim expressions were cracked by surprise. It was an enormous pile of debris, sealed together tight. Doors, armchairs, shelves, beams of wood, bedroom suites, writing desks...one, large teetering wall. At its base, were two people Victoire immediately recognised.

"Dom! Fred!"

They turned, torn from whatever conversation they were in the middle of, their jaws agape. Dominique sprinted towards the pair, throwing her arms around her sister.

Fred stood back, his dark brow furrowed.

"Is he alright?" Teddy murmured.

"He's just very serious about not leaving his post," Dominique said. She held her sister by the shoulders and examined her, as if trying to memorise her face. "Oh _Merlin_ , I've missed you!"

"His post?"

"You do realise this is a proper warzone, Teddy?" Dominique replied, relinquishing her sister.

A proper warzone. His old office had it's doors ripped off their hinges, added to the heap of the wall no doubt. The glass windows with their curling cursive _Society of Social Welfare_ had shattered. Teddy's old apartment was just on the other side of that wall. So was Diagon Alley, where he had slept on Selima's sofa. Teddy approached Fred, clapping him on the back and extracting his own wand, as if to take Dominique's place.

A proper warzone then. Victoire joined his side. Once he had been here rabble-rousing, before he knew what the real thing meant. Now he was a real rebel, in a real warzone.

* * *

"This doesn't feel very ceremonious," Alice frowned. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, squinting across the common room. Isabella stood near her, her feet tucked into fluffy blue slippers that made her toes seem like Pygmy Puffs. "Is this supposed to be a midnight raid?"

"Not quite yet."

"So we _are_ doing a raid!" Isabella gasped, her hand jumping to her mouth. "Oh, is it wrong that I find that so thrilling?"

"It's not really a raid," Rose sighed, sticking her wand into her bun for safekeeping. "I wanted to chat to you before we wake the fifth and fourth years."

"It's a challenge then?"

"I don't fancy that it's a challenge either," Rose sighed, a little frustrated. "Although that's closer to the mark."

Alice and Isabella faced her, their pyjamas and messy hair certainly not commanding respect. Perhaps some of the flamboyant Slytherin flair would be necessary after all. No one would take them seriously if they were wearing slippers.

"We need to train the students, teach them defence. Good defence. Get them at a point where they can duel."

"Midnight duelling? Sounds exciting."

"But before we begin, we need a game plan. We need to figure out how we teach them."

Both girls seemed prepared, moving to close the space. Alice extracted her wand and used it to push the sofa up against the wall. Rose had never been very good at instructing. She had always lacked the patience for it. She listened as Isabella and Alice chatted, offering their ideas. A suit of armour would be a good dummy if they wanted to get the feel of fighting a goblin. Alice ducked outside to retrieve one from along the dungeon corridor outside.

"So we just wake them up? Assemble them and start prepping."

"I think we should go put some black robes on," Rose said, tweaking her lip.

She flicked her wand at the candles along the mantle and sent them up into the air. They dipped and trembled in their levitated state. Alice returned through the opening passage, a suit of armour clanking along behind her under a clumsy Transfiguration spell.

"Black robes and maybe some masks too. Actually, masks would be a rather good idea I think."

* * *

Bill clutched his goblet tightly.

"Are you ready?"

"Don't ask sillee questions," Fleur said haughtily. She gave her potion a sniff. Her husband's drink had turned a pale gold. Hers was a cool brown, the colour and texture of a creamy coffee. At least both potions looked palatable.

"Like on our wedding night, I theenk," Fleur said. They exchanged a cheeky smile. She wove her arm around her husbands and they tipped their heads back to drink, intertwined at the crook of their joints.

The transformation was almost immediate. The painful bubbling, the heat in the flesh, the shortening, the sudden explosion of hair. It didn't take long until an exact replica of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were facing one another. Bill fiddled around for his glasses.

"We've gone over the plan. Remember to hold back."

"Oh, Bill, zere iz no need to worry. I _know_ it all."

He cupped her face tightly in his hands. "I know you know. But I need you to hold back. Until it's clear. Do not join the battle before we clear the entrance of Gringotts."

"I promeese I will wait," she huffed. "I love you."

Bill smiled a little, looking gruff on Harry's bearded face. His wife blinked back at him from unfamiliar brown eyes.

" _What?"_

"I was just thinking. The first time I asked you out was in Gringotts, back in the day—back when you were—"

"—Working part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish. I remember."

"Ah, memories," he replied, grinning once more. "Let's go make a few more."

* * *

It was very early in the morning, perhaps between the hours of two and three. Rose promised she would finish at three so that Scorpius could wake the boys and take over. It hadn't been a bad hour of tutoring so far. After the girls had stumbled chaotically from their beds, they fell into the routine very quickly.

The youngest there was Betty Fink, third year, but Rose didn't really know the names of the others. They were just a handful of girls. She realised she had never bothered learning the names of the girls in the years below her. Meredith had been the stubborn exception.

And while Rose would once have not cared very much, it now struck her as rather important.

"We've covered the basics," Rose said, stepping into the centre of the room and adjusting her mask.

Isabella had created them with a very delicate charm, turning several expensive pairs of sunglasses into beautiful Colombina masks. They were a dark green with a design of rippling scales, fitted to the girls' faces. But they were not as intimidating as the full facial coverings their seniors used to wear.

"You know that you should avoid your usual offensive spells—Stunning Spells and other curses won't make a dent in goblin metal. You need to be clever. Try to make your opponent slip up. Use their environment against them. The only time a Stunning Spell will work is if you can hit their flesh."

She took a deep breath and assessed the small group of Slytherin girls. Two fourth years. One fifth year and two sixth years. Only Betty remained from her second year. They were depleted in their numbers. But numbers never guaranteed strength or power.

"Each of you will step forward. You will attack the armour then explain why you chose that method. Then, I want you to introduce yourselves."

She nodded to Alice, who took up her wand at the signal and reanimated the suit of armour. The girls stood in their line, wands held at their sides. Perhaps because she already knew her name, Rose nodded to Betty first.

Betty Fink took a step forward while still trembling with trepidation. Her red hair fell lankly to her shoulders. She looked very much like a thirteen year old, too young to be holding up a wand as if she were about to duel. Alice sent the suit of armour marching toward her and with a loud shout, Betty trapped the suit on the floor with a Stickfast Hex. Everyone gave her a smattering of applause as she blew her hair from her ruddy cheeks.

"I'm Betty," she said, her adenoidal voice taking on an edge. "I chose the Stickfast Hex because I know it would slow down the armour. It would stop it running after me."

A hex that a bully would learn. But Betty wasn't a bully anymore. She shrugged back into the ranks.

Another girl stepped forward, a fourth year with a long crooked nose and eyes that made her look like the author on the back of a Victorian novel. She introduced herself as Iris Crowe and she stopped the suit of armour with a Freezing Charm, causing ice to crack it's way up the metal. The other fourth year, Lydia Burke used "Obscuro," to blind her opponent's visor.

The sole fifth year was named Gloria Fink, so Rose gathered that she was potentially a relative of Betty's. She defeated Alice's Transfigured dummy by levitating it high in the air above her. Less practical, Rose decided, but unconventional.

The two remaining sixth years were familiar to Rose. She knew that one was named Tamsin, but only discovered then that her surname was Munt. She bound the suit of armour in ropes so it collapsed on the floor, its helmet rolling across the room. The final girl, Sarah Khan, got creative by dragging the sofa off the ground and catapulting it onto the suit of armour, effectively crushing it.

By the time they were done, Rose knew them all by name. She knew their strange reasoning and the way they had circumvented their own weaknesses to obtain the final goal. The suit of armour would need some reassembling but at least Rose could now return to bed and sleep easy. The girls were a little more resourceful and prepared than they had been when the sun set that evening. When she was through with them, they would be able to handle anything.

* * *

They attacked Gringotts just before daybreak. The wall was an ominous pile of rubble, a dark grey mass in the early shadows. The two regiments were separating. With meticulous wand work, they cast Disillusionment Charms that rendered them almost invisible in the gloom.

The first regiment moved in their positions along the wall, as Bill had instructed them to. They had practiced it the evening before. The second regiment was already scaling the ramshackle buildings along their end of the alley. Victoire's hands were numb with the cold. She pulled herself up onto the eave of a two-story apartment, catching her breath in little puffs of mist that would give her position away if anyone looked closely enough.

From along the wall, the first regiment lit their wands with low beams to indicate their positions. Victoire teed herself up with her counterpart—a man named Danny Lim, she believed, who was third in line—and waited for her mother's signal to cast the Levitation Charm. The pinpoints of light flew into the air alongside their chameleon like casters, levitated by each of the members of second regiment. It was a crafty way to get over the wall without needing to knock it down. Her mother's idea. From the rooftop, they could easily place their partners on the other side of the wall. Their wand beams extinguished. They blended back into the darkness.

From where she leaned against the chimney she could see Gringotts. Just the tip of it, the topsy-turvy marble of the bank. The wall blocked her vision of the steps. They would be advancing. They rope against metal, quiet thuds—the security goblins set up along steps, most likely bound unsuspectingly by a curse—that had been her father's plan at least. Their Disillusionment Charms couldn't last much longer. Once the other goblins realised they were under attack, it would be far too dangerous to fire spells when you couldn't see your own soldiers. They would soon drop the Charms, but as long as they reached the doors first…

"I can't see much from up here," Teddy's voice came, somewhere to her right. She was grateful for the Disillusionment Charm. She found it very strange to look at him as a goblin. "Do you think they've made it to the doors?"

"It's still quiet…so hopefully."

While she couldn't see him, Victoire took sudden comfort from Teddy's presence beside her. He was not a fighter, yet he was here. And while Teddy was repulsed at the idea of killing a goblin, whichever side he stood, she knew that he would step in front of a blade to protect the ones he loved. She wasn't sure if that scared her or not.

"If it comes to it Teddy, you have to fight," she said, keeping her voice low.

"That's not what I'm here to do, Vic."

"You _have_ to fight."

His hand found her shoulder, clammy and unlike his touch. It made her skin crawl. She felt a ring on his thumb.

"I'll do my best to stay alive. You just make sure you do that too, okay?"

She was about to argue with him, to remind him that this wasn't the time for his newly pacifist stance, that sometimes an eye needed to be exchanged for an eye. But there wasn't time for a row. There were bursts of light and sound from down beyond the wall. Colours like flares, fireworks. A clash of metal. Duellers darted across the top steps of the bank. They hadn't made it inside yet—but they were so close.

"Get into position. Get ready," they heard her mother say.

When Victoire turned to take hold of Teddy's unfamiliar hand, he had already gone.

* * *

Harry clicked his locket shut and tucked it discretely into his shirt. He took Ginny's shoulder and gently stirred her. She woke with a startled snort and almost fell out of the staff room armchair. Hermione woke Ron, Neville and Hannah, still at the table, heads on their arms.

"The Battle at Gringotts is underway. Just got word from Bill," Harry said.

"It's happening then. I suppose we put our end in-in-in," Ron yawned, wincing his bloodshot eyes, "—in action."

"We will need everyone in their positions," Hermione nodded promptly. "I say at least another thirty minutes. We want the goblins in Hogsmeade to get word back that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are leading the push into Gringotts."

Neville squeezed Hannah's shoulders and stood. "I'll go and wake the other teachers. Should I bother getting our Hogsmeade reserve in or just keep it to the original Order?"

"Keep it tight for now," Ron decided. "We'll have the others on standby if we need them. Hannah, go find Luna and Rolf. Neville, go wake the teachers. Hermione and I will gather the Order members."

They shuffled off to their various tasks, their lassitude evaporating in the wake of the morning's urgency. When the door shut, it was just the Potters who remained. Ginny crossed her legs and tipped one head to her side.

"It's annoying you, isn't it?"

"Sorry?" Harry replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Bill impersonating you. Having to remain unseen so you don't blow our cover."

"Hermione's not allowed to fight either," Harry replied, a little defensively.

"Yes, but Hermione is a proper nerd. She doesn't care about diving into a battle. You're bothered."

"Ginny," Harry said. He dropped his voice low to garner back a bit of authority. "I'm not bothered."

She threw her hands up and turned away, faking disinterest. "I won't get into an argy-bargy over it, I'm just telling you that I know you're bothered by it."

"It's not like the rest of the Order will be _fighting,_ " Harry snapped back, scratching his beard. "They'll just be monitoring."

" _Right_."

"I mean, if I wanted to, I could do the same under my Invisibility Cloak."

"Except you can't because I hid your Invisibility Cloak."

" _What_?"

"It's in a very safe, secure place."

Ginny launched out of the armchair, straightening her husband's glasses and patting him twice on the chest. She could feel the Order's locket around his neck.

"This is the part where we wait and see. No fighting necessary from us."

"From us?"

"I'll stay with you."

"You're not bothered by it?"

"Merlin, Harry. I'm a little bit more sophisticated than that."

* * *

The adrenalin before a battle makes the young more reckless. After the last big fight Molly had been in, she was hyperaware of her own inexperience and carelessness, the way it lashed out in her limbs, tripping over her tongue in the rush to get out a spell. She was a casualty waiting to happen. She knew because she was fighting beside a man who had replaced his father at her expense.

It didn't surprise her that she and the other young ones were in Fleur's much smaller regiment. It didn't surprise her that they were holding back until the experienced crew had made their path clear. While she would usually have been begrudging, she accepted their role without question this time.

Fleur had them climb from rooftop to rooftop until they were well past the wall. They had a better vantage point of the street below; the fighting has progressed up to the Gringotts. The large doors were blasted off their hinges and gaped open in a wide-mouthed scream. A security troll had collapsed, unconscious. Several goblins littered the street. They could not see any human causalities yet.

"It iz clear," Fleur murmured. It was time to climb down from the safety of their perches. One by one, their shifty chameleon-like disguises warped the air around them as they carefully scaled down an escape ladder on the side of an apartment.

They moved up the street. It was as decrepit and looted as their side was. The white bank glared up ahead, scowling under its marble columns. They could hear the clash of the fight beyond the gaping doors.

"Wait for ze signal."

They waited as Fleur went ahead to scout the entrance of the bank.

"We definitely have the map?" Dominique whispered.

"I have it," Teddy confirmed. "Not that we can read it. Bloody complicated."

They waited another moment in silence, staring at the motionless troll on the top step. A small flair of blue light beamed then disappeared by the door. It was their signal to progress.

The second set of doors had also been blasted aside. The marble hall beyond was in complete disarray. The long counters on the right had been blown to splinters. Further into the hall, Molly could make out several of their own wizards and witches sheltering behind the counter. They looked seriously injured. But her attention was drawn to the rest of their first regiment, led by who seemed to be Harry Potter, was still fighting two dozen sets of goblins.

"Do not dizolve your charms until you are in ze vault," Fleur instructed, tapping herself on the head. She came back into solid appearance, Hermione Granger before them. Bushy haired, bushy browed, dark brown eyes blazing. "Follow Teddy. I will find you later."

"What?" Fred asked, his voice high.

"Stay unseen, do not wait for me."

Fleur sprinted towards the centre of the fight and sent a sudden burst of flame into the centre of the room. The heat singed their skin. Every piece of parchment in the hall simultaneously burst into flames, the smoke twisting upwards against the marble ceiling. The fighters dispersed through the sudden smokescreen.

"That's our cover," Teddy said, his voice ringing with authority. They veered right after him, heading straight for one of the vault entrances behind the blasted counters. Teddy must have run his goblin nails down the surface of the vault because it opened for them. By the time it closed and the smoke was clearing, no one had noticed they had stepped inside.

Victoire's wand light expanded to fill the cavern. Vaults lined it on either side like mailboxes. Several small carts were waiting on the tracks.

"So this was my mum's plan?" Victoire asked, shaking her head. "Why confide in _you_?"

"She'll catch up with us," Teddy replied stoically. His goblin mask made him less inviting to look at. "She needed them to see her as Hermione. And there's no way we'd get into the vaults if there wasn't a diversion."

"Why not tell us?"

"I'm just following orders," Teddy shrugged. He addressed the group. "Now you need to follow mine. Vic and I will take the first cart. You four need to pair off and take the next two. Make sure no one is following us."

They were taking orders from Teddy now. This changed the dynamic. Teddy was risky. Teddy was reckless. They lacked confidence and experience. But she couldn't be held accountable for another person's death this time. She had to follow her orders. She had to minimise their chance of failing the operation.

The tunnel plunged forward into darkness like a wide gaping maw. The four youngest of their regiment got into the cart and prepared to be swallowed whole.

* * *

Ginny had agreed to stay behind, remaining in the staffroom with Hermione and Harry while the stakeout began. It was still early, too early for any of the students to be up. Depending on the events down in Hogsmeade, they may be cancelling classes.

The locket that lay against Ginny's neck turned hot, branding her momentarily with its urgency. She fished it out by its chain then flicked the locket doors open. A small unsmiling photograph of Bill filled the locket portrait and his voice came out from the other blank window.

 _"_ _They have definitely seen both Harry and Hermione in the battle now. We only have a couple hours of Polyjuice potion left. The second team is on their way to the vaults. We have only four casualties but there have been a lot of injuries. Some might be fatal. Send Hannah over to Diagon Alley for the extraction."_

"Got it. I'll check in with our border patrol."

Ginny didn't ask for further details. The locket had already gone cold in her hand. Clearly, that message was all Bill had time for.

Harry had already flipped over his locket, murmuring Neville's name into the portrait frames.

 _"_ _Funny you should contact me. I was just about to check in,"_ Neville said.

"We just got word from Bill. They've seen both me and Hermione fighting in Gringotts. Have Romnuk's goblins eased off?"

 _"_ _No. Quite absurdly, the opposite. About fifteen minutes ago, we found out they're digging like maniacs to get back under the school's walls. It's like they're hell-bent on getting in. Before the battle started, there wasn't even any activity."_

"Right," Harry said slowly. He clucked his tongue. "Right. Tell Ron to proceed with Plan B then."

 _"_ _You mean Operation Phoenix Ashes."_

"No one agreed to call it that."

 _"_ _Ron is still calling it that."_

"Don't encourage him. Also, send Hannah into Diagon Alley. We have a lot of casualties."

" _Ah, that's not good. Thanks Harry. Make sure you and Hermione stay put."_

Harry snapped the locket shut and turned to Ginny. She was already perched to move.

"So, what does this mean exactly?"

"It means that Romnuk isn't trying to get in here to kill Hermione and I. He's trying to get into Hogwarts for something else."

"In fact, the moment he thought we had left _that's_ when they started digging," Hermione scowled. "If he's not after us then what is he after?"

"It doesn't matter," Ginny shrugged. "This is the time where we flush them out. By the end of today we won't have to worry about goblins in Hogsmeade or Gringotts."

* * *

 **A/N: I've really been losing steam with writing, so sorry about the delay. Back in the land of Oz, we had our own political drama that took a lot out of me and made me a thousand times more disillusioned in the state of our democracy.**

 **My heart and soul go out to Olivia who edited this chapter and tried to catch my many typos. You can thank her for helping me unravel my woeful plot holes. Am I semi-making things up as I go? Yes.**

 **Thanks again for all your patience. There won't be as much of a wait for this next chapter.**

 **Much love, Vanessa x**


	6. Chapter Five

**—CHAPTER FIVE—**

Teddy had spent the evening before the battle carefully studying a pair of goblin fingerprints under a magnifying glass, the concave lens expanding a spiralling pattern that looked like a finely drawn hurricane on a weather map. It had taken hours for him to match his thumbprint to the Gringotts goblin that volunteered his chalky fingers. It had taken so much focus and energy that his eyes now twitched in the dark passages, the adrenalin buckling under his exhaustion.

Down deeper into the earth they went, trundling in their rickety carts. He knew that Victoire's mind was working furiously, angry that there had been parts of the plan kept from her. He could feel her breath on his neck. His stomach lurched as they lunged down further, further.

Find the vault, Teddy told himself. By the time you find the vault, Fleur will have returned.

* * *

"It's time to flush out these tunnels," Neville said grimly, standing close to the walls surrounding Hogwarts. The statues of the twin winged boar glared down at them all, casting judgement on their tactics.

"Flood or fire?" Professor McGonagall asked grimly.

"Flood, I think," Neville decided. "I suppose its time we head into Hogsmeade."

The group of rebels—some teachers, others Hogsmeade residents—collectively raised their wands to create one large Shielding Charm. Luna was at the very front, leading the group. Ron was at the rear making sure the Charm held from all sides. They waited, eyes on the oldest member of the Order.

Professor McGonagall stood like a general, a series of stationary suits of armour at attention behind her. They gleamed in the early morning light. She raised her wand and brought them to life, their empty helmets snapping to attention.

"Lead the charge," she said primly.

And the soldiers marched ahead, their swords sliding out of their sheaths. A set of pawns to sacrifice easily. The rest of the group, Shield Charm still secure, followed out the front gates.

Neville noticed, just as he was about to join Ron at the rear of the group, a pair of boots creep unattached along the lawn towards the front gates. He raised his eyebrows, hardly fooled, and pretending to look the other way until they were passing the cloud of colour in his periphery.

He lunged out and grabbed hold of the Invisibility Cloak, whipping it off like a muggle magic trick. Harry jumped, his glasses landing askew on the bridge of his nose.

"I thought I told Ginny to hide your Invisibility Cloak."

"She hid my decoy Invisibility Cloak."

"You have a _decoy_ Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and scratched his beard abashedly. "You know, I could help. They're clearly not after _me_."

Ginny came tearing down the hill, her legs pounding the grass, her expression turning to fury when she saw her husband standing de-Cloaked.

"I _hid_ your Cloak!"

"That's his decoy Cloak," Neville replied.

" _Decoy_ Cloak? Who am I married to, Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Both of you need to stay in the Castle, _hidden_ ," Neville said, throwing the Cloak to Ginny. "I better catch up with the others. Stay inside _."_

Neville left, his jaw set, jogging to catch up with the group as they walked through the gates that swung shut behind them with a clang of finality.

* * *

With Teddy steering the cart, his long fingers curled around the steering lever, they passed easily through the Thief's Downfall. The waterfall parted neatly for them, flecking them with drops but nothing more. At least those fingerprints appeared to be working. Teddy understood now why they needed him so desperately.

Fleur, of course, would be overturned in her cart following them. In fact, without a goblin leading her, how would Fleur find them at all? Teddy felt the back of his bald neck prickle at the thought. She had only given him enough instructions to see him through.

He would just need to trust.

"Slow down," Victoire hissed. He eased off the lever. Their cart began creaking to a less dizzying pace. They could hear a hiss up ahead, the snort and flare of nostrils. Then, they were swinging around the corner and were confronted by a dragon.

It was not one of the caged specimens he had become acquainted with in Romania, nor was it the oddly tamed Opaleye that Victoire had charmed like a snake. It was wild and furious and filled the entire space.

And it was not just any dragon. It had been blinded, it's eyes a pearly grey under scarred lids. It was enormous, curled into the cavern, its head snapping in their direction. It snarled, baring its sharp teeth. They heard Dominique whimper in the cart behind them.

"I think that's one of the dragons they stole from us," Victoire said, her voice trembling with either fear or rage—although Teddy was inclined to think rage. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well, this is where we get to bludgeon it," Teddy replied, his heart thumping radically in his chest.

They heard a rattle of wheels on the tracks behind them and turned around. A goblin was joining them, Fleur and Charlie standing behind him. A wand was directed at the goblin's dome-like skull and his gaze was vacant.

Fleur, still looking like Hermione Granger, launched out of the cart, directing the goblin to do the same. Charlie followed, strapping on a pair of fire-proof gloves.

"Ready to cull your first dragon, Vic?" he asked. He took hold of her and pulled her out of the cart. "Follow me. The rest of you, stick with Teddy. We won't have long down here."

Things had fallen back into place, the pieces of the plan clicking together again. The part of the plan that terrified Teddy most, where he was needed. He watched his wife sprint after Charlie, her blonde ponytail streaming behind her. He pulled his focus back to the terrified group of rebels before him.

"Vault 717 isn't too much further. We'll go on foot."

"You mean—through the dragon? Shouldn't we wait until they take it out?"

A jet of fire lit up the entire cavern. Teddy pinned his team of four to the far side of the wall.

"No time! Let's go."

* * *

The suits of armour had taken down most of the sentries but it hadn't been hard for the goblins to dismantle their empty shells. It was now a proper battle, spells clashing against swords. The Shielding Charm had held long enough to get them to the foothills of Hogsmeade, where the tunnelling began and where the goblins were best fortified.

But they had reached their destination, the mouth of the tunnels. Just the one tunnel, that would no doublt split into a web that tried to wind beneath the Castle's foundations. Tunnels that led to no where, thwarted by the charms Neville had put deep into the ground, charms that turned the base of Hogwarts into impenetrable cement. And all those goblins digging inside of them.

Neville, Ron and Professor McGonagall stood side by side, their wands all aimed at the tunnel entrance, and in unison they produced an Aguamenti Spell.

A tidal wave of water, dense and unrelenting, flowed from their wands. The swell surged in leviathan floods and deep in the network of tunnels, whole armies of goblins would drown and choke, unable to swim in their armour. Unable to do anything but take on water. They would drown like rats in a sewer.

The battle raged around them with the few goblins left above ground, but Hogsmeade had already been won back.

* * *

A jet of fire singed the hairs on Victoire's arms. This is how you kill a dragon. A crash course. You need to distract it. This dragon was blind so it had to be distracted through sound. Charlie placed his wand by his throat and roared, his voice bouncing through the tunnel. The dragon threw its head in his direction sending another jet of flames. Charlie had already dived out of the way.

This is how you kill a dragon. You find its soft spots. Its undefended places. Its secret weakness.

You make sure it can't move. This dragon couldn't fly, not in its tomb of earth. But it could trample, claw, maim. Fleur sent thick ropes around its forelegs and Victoire followed suite on its hind limbs. Their wands twirled and arced like rhythmic gymnasts. Charlie was busy trying to get its jaws muzzled. No more flamethrowers to worry about.

With a frantic thrash, Victoire was knocked flat. She hadn't anticipated the tail. She had been too focused on the clawed feet. No spikes at least. But she was winded. Her head throbbed from where it had connected with the stone floor.

She rolled away from the dragon's tail as it whipped past again, taking refuge where its tail couldn't reach. She was under its belly now. Its soft, secret destruct button.

It was not a pleasant thing to do, killing a dragon. She realised why dragon cullers were paid so handsomely. Not just because it required great dexterity, strength and grit. But it required something else too. You either had to be sadistic and heartless, a person who loved killing things. Or you had to be wise enough to know the power this beast had to destroy. You were someone with a duty for preservation.

Still on her back, Victoire raised her wand and ran it down the length of the dragon's soft underbelly. It opened neatly like scissors down silk, blood and innards pouring down over Victoire like a crimson cascade, drenching her from head to toe. The dragon wailed in pain. Victoire rolled out from underneath it, spitting blood from her mouth and wiping it from her eyes. Her head still throbbed from her dizzying collision with the ground. She stayed down, panting in pain with a mouthful of iron, the beast beside her breathing its last few miserable breaths.

* * *

Harry, Hermione and Ginny stood in the Astronomy Tower. They had a clear vision of the grounds. Hagrid's hut by the forest. The Quidditch Pitch lined with its rows of vegetables. And further down, quite difficult to descry, the battle beyond the gates of Hogwarts. Somewhere between the road to Hogsmeade, where the tunnels opened up. They couldn't tell what was happening exactly. All the figures looked the same, small as ants.

"If they're not after us but they're trying to get into Hogwarts," Hermione said slowly, "then they're after something else."

"I have a feeling I know what they're after," Harry replied. "And I think they've come to accept that I don't have it. Romnuk must have grown bored of his hammer."

"If we kill Romnuk and Fleur kills Selgrut, then what?" Ginny asked bluntly, looking between her husband and sister-in-law. "Does that mean it's over? Does that mean it just _ends_?"

Harry rubbed his stubbled jaw once more. "I think it means we start over."

* * *

The dragon gave a final howl behind them but Teddy didn't dare turn back. They were sprinting now, vaults passing on either side in a blur.

He felt something fly past him and miss him by inches. He turned in time to see several goblins taking cover behind the doors of half-open vaults, hurling curses thickly with their wands.

"Branch out," Teddy ordered.

The other split into pairs. Rowan and Molly took the goblins on the far left. Fred and Dominique took those on the right. Teddy withdrew his wand and turned to face the nearest cell, vault 713. The vault itself was utterly empty. No gold to see, no treasures hoarded. Maybe wizards had cleared out their vaults when the economy began to crumble, or maybe the goblins had ceased whatever was inside. Either way, it seemed to be a pattern. They were the most well protected vaults in the bank, but there was nothing inside of them.

He disarmed the goblin hiding behind the doors, the short thick wand clattering across the floor. He could see Fleur sprinting to catch up with them now, the dragon's body sagged across the passage. There were less goblins than he expected down here. Molly, Fred, Rowan and Dominique were doing a surprisingly good job.

"Ze vault, Ted-ee!" Fleur shouted, whipping her wand upwards a d sending the ceiling crumbling onto the goblins below.

Rubble doused them, peppering their hair and eyes. He blew it out of his eyes and skidded to a stop in front of Vault 717. It was the last vault in the tunnel, emerging from the cloud of debris before him. He sprinted forward and pressed his thumb into the door, scrapping it down the metal. It melted away.

Teddy wasn't sure why he didn't wait for Victoire. Later, he would claim it was the adrenalin that carried him forward. He slipped into the vault with his wand aloft and almost dropped it in surprise.

Selgrut the Sly was seated inside. It was as if he was waiting for Teddy, his face cold. One hand held a sword, the other was curled around a wand. Short and stubby, mass produced wood, generic core. A wand that probably wouldn't work.

Just like the others, the vault was empty. Selgrut filled the space with his scowl, with his slick sword, with his searing eyes. No glitzy distractions. Just the head of the Ministry's militia, the goblin who stirred up a coup.

"You are not a goblin," Selgrut said slowly. His eyes raked over Teddy's disguise. "A goblin would not hold a wand like that. And a goblin would never agree to break into Gringotts, not unless he was under the control of a Wizard's enchantment."

" _How can you not be sure that I was working for the humans all along?_ " Teddy replied in his flawless Gobbledegook. He progressed slowly forward. He would need to find a way to trap Selgrut, to pin him down. No spell would get through that armour, not from this distance. " _Perhaps I turned long ago."_

" _No,"_ Selgrut replied, drawing his sword. _"The humans think they have goblins on their side, but they are mistaken. We are the revolution. We are the avengers. All goblins will soon realise this common cause. But you are either under the Imperius Curse…or you are an imposter."_

 _"_ _How could I be an imposter? No potion could make a wizard look like a goblin."_

Best to keep him talking, Teddy thought, as his heart clambered against his ribs. Until Fleur caught up at least. She would know exactly what to do.

 _"_ _I am not sure of their ways…but there have been leaks. We have killed one such already. A duplicate. A human in goblin skin. Now I will kill another."_

Teddy felt something sharp hit his shoulder with incredible force from behind. A blade penetrated the rivets between the metal plates, finding one of the very few weak spots in his armour. The pain was blinding. He saw spots before his eyes and staggered like a drunk, almost dropping his wand. Still he swung around in time to see a goblin raise an axe for a second time—a goblin he immediately recognised.

Welgruk, his old and kooky desk mate from the Ministry of Magic, eyes wild in the light of the torches.

Teddy swapped his wand to his left hand and fired an Impediment Jinx to slow down the movement of the axe. Still, he was cornered now. As he spun, Selgrut slashed his sword in a heavy blow across his chest plate. Teddy wove around him, his right shoulder biting with pain, his left hand clutching his wand with panic in every fingertip.

" _Ah, Rook_ ," Welgruk said, shaking off the jinx. He swung the axe once more to pick up speed. " _Of course you would be the spy! You never truly enjoyed our cabbage soup."_

An arrow spun through the air. Teddy ducked just in time. It planted itself in Welgruk's throat, in the small gap between his armour. Teddy spared a second to look around and saw Fleur entering, wand in hand. She conjured another arrow with an elaborate sweep of her arm and sent it at Selgrut. He deflected it with his sword.

Teddy turned and rounded on Welgruk while Fleur tackled Selgrut. She still looked like Hermione, frizzy hair in its bun, but surely the Potion would wear off soon. Teddy aimed a Sticking Charm at Welgruk's boots, planting him to the spot. He would bleed out before long, the arrowhead broken off in his neck.

"Not the first time you have broken into Gringotts, is it Granger?" Selgrut snarled, slashing his sword. He nicked her cheek.

"Why even hold up Gringotts?" Teddy demanded. Fleur couldn't speak without her accent giving her away. "The bank was already under your control."

"There are goblin articles that must be returned to us," Selgrut replied coldly, panting between his teeth.

"Well, all zese vaults 'ave nothing inside zem," Fleur snapped. She sprang her arm across Teddy's chest and backed him out of the vault. "Except, of course, for you."

She dug into her pocket and threw a phial into the vault. It smashed on the floor and a thick vapour erupted from it, clouding out like a sentient fog. Before either goblin could react, she had pulled Teddy's arm forward—his injured arm, causing him blinding pain—and pressed his hand to the vault's door. The coiling cloud of poison began to move towards them, like a hand reaching out in a greedy grasp. Through the fog he watched as Selgrut's eyes bulged, his face turning a putrid blue as he launched at the door. But it had already sealed shut, the spreading cloud remaining inside along with them.

"Zey will die quickly," Fleur said. He watched as her face began to warp, the skin colour changing from its dark olive to its very pale white. "It iz done. We must leave. Many 'ave been injured."

Teddy did not want to think about the goblins in that vault; the horrible militia leader or his eccentric mentor from the Ministry, soon to have the vault they were trapped in become their tomb. He felt himself shrink away from what had just happen. Instead, he lit his wand and began moving back up the chamber. He grunted through the pain from his shoulder.

"The injured, are they from our group?" he asked through ragged breath.

But before Fleur answered, his wand beam caught the mountainous hide of the dragon. Blood had pooled in the passage. With a start, he saw that Victoire was completely covered in it—her hair, face and front drenched in it. His heart leapt into his mouth.

"No injuries from us," Fleur stated, the words almost a paradox. "We must _go_."

Victoire ran up and joined him. "Dead?" she said.

Her face gleamed scarlet and wet. She had tried to wipe it from her eyes but had only smeared her forehead further. He nodded, feeling sick from the smell of it all. Death. It clung to the air like some sort of congealed contaminant. He could shut his eyes to it but he could not block out the smell, the vile stench of offal and blood.

They climbed into the cart. Fred was nursing a cut to his upper arm but Rowan was carefully binding it with a bandage. They had all got out without any serious harm. Teddy grasped the lever and their carts gave a stomach-dropping lurch.

* * *

Rose woke up to the sound of Albus saying her name. This could not have been possible for she was asleep in her dormitory, but after he said it the third time, she pulled herself out of her bed to investigate. She realised, with a start, that he was using their three-way mirrors for the first time in a while. She had forgotten that the second-hand mirror on her bedside table had any other purpose than checking if she had spots.

She had been up very late training their girls in the common room. It irked her that she had been woken early.

"What's going on?" she asked, taking the mirror into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She had to stop herself from adding, _it better be something good._ Because surely, for Albus to be using the mirror when he could have just waited for their first class meant that something was wrong.

"I can't say for certain but Hugo woke me ten minutes ago saying there was a battle this morning down at Hogsmeade."

Rose blinked. She shrugged off her drowsiness like a thick blanket. "What?"

"I dunno details but the Order must have put their plan into action."

"But that was for Gringotts—since when were they going to attack Hogsmeade?"

Her brain was ticking away furiously, but mostly, she was annoyed that she had not been told. "We're supposed to be in the Order now—we're supposed to _know_ these things!"

But really, she was frightened that someone had gotten to Romnuk before her. Perhaps it was a foolish fancy, but she felt deep in her bones that he was somehow marked out for her alone. The idea he may already be dead—

"I'm going to go get Scorpius. Let's meet in the trophy room."

They met in the trophy room some fifteen minutes later. Their reflections glimmered back on all angles, concave and distorted in the silver funhouse mirrors of plaques and trophies.

"On my way here, we heard that classes were cancelled," Scorpius said.

Rose was bitter about how they had come across this piece of information. They had run into Caleb Macmillan, the new Head Boy, who was on his way from his common room in the basement to inform the other prefects.

"I got more information from James. They've taken back Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley."

"Are you _certain_?"

"Well, I wouldn't make something like that up, would I?" Albus blustered. "We've driven them out."

"And Romnuk?" Rose repeated, the urgency hard to hide. "Did they kill Romnuk?"

"Can't say," Albus frowned. "James didn't mention it. But I imagine if they had, he would've known. That'll have been cause to celebrate."

They were silent for a moment, thinking it over.

"As long as Romnuk's out there, this isn't finished," Rose decided. She was angry now, thoroughly fuming. First they wouldn't allow her to become Head Girl. Then they fail to inform her that they're attacking Hogsmeade. "They're keeping us in the dark. Well, stuff that. We have our own plans."

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," Scorpius muttered. He threw his hands up, an uncharacteristically emotive display. The two cousins moved away in surprised. "You're not rabbiting on about the Philosopher's Stone again, are you?"

"It's our ace."

"No, Rose! It's _nothing_. You haven't even thought it through. This is the reason why the Order won't trust us! You come up with these absolutely mad half-baked plans and then leap into them without thinking. The Stone is _nothing_. You recruited Bellucci for nothing. The sooner you drop it, the better."

His outburst has taken both cousins by surprise, leaving them speechless for a moment in the wake of his cold indignation.

Albus blinked rapidly. "Well, there's nothing wrong with being prepared—"

"For what? You think it'll be a bargaining tool? Do you think Romnuk is that bloody daft? He'll know it's fake! Look, you two can leave me out of this. Do whatever you like, I can prepare in my own ways."

Albus looked between them both, trying to gauge their mood. After a sullen pause, he gave up. "Well, that was quite the row. Look, we don't know what's going on. We need to prepare for everything. But in the meantime, I think we should carry out mirrors on us at all times. Alright?"

"Fine," Rose said shortly.

"Agreed," Scorpius muttered.

There was no need to share another word.

* * *

Teddy's collarbone was properly broken. When he had transformed back into a human, he broke it a second time. The pain was excruciating. Unfortunately, their Healers were too busy attending to those who were mortally wounded. He sat on the steps outside of Gringotts, waiting his turn. Someone had bandaged his shoulder in the meantime, but it did absolutely nothing.

They had won back the bank with minor casualties. Wizards had died. So had goblins. Selgrut and Welgruk's skeletons would lie inside those vaults for a very long time. Teddy had to keep stopping himself from thinking about it.

Victoire dropped onto the marble step beside him. She had syphoned most of the blood off her face and neck. Her hair was red like a Weasley, matted with blood. Her clothes were soaked through. She reeked, the sweet metallic stench clinging to her. He wrinkled his nose.

"I wasn't expecting you to fight like you did," she said.

"I didn't kill anyone," he replied. "Not personally."

"They certainly tried to kill you."

Teddy was silent. He averted his eyes away from the wizards and witches lying on the cobblestones and shifted around to look through into the Gringotts' foyer. The goblins were also strewn in rows along the floor. It was just as jarring to see their bodies so still and immobile, even if they were their enemies. Orlick was walking down the rows of bodies, a clipboard in hand, identifying the goblins that he recognised. His face was set and grim, but otherwise he showed no emotion. These was the same army that would have persecuted him when he stood for Morgana. He must feel some echo of what Teddy was thinking.

"It still makes no sense to me," Teddy sighed. "All those vaults had been emptied. They were the highest security. One of them belonged to the Dumbledore family. The other was a Hogwarts vault. Do you reckon there's something they're looking for _in_ Hogwarts?"

Victoire sat in silence for a moment. Then she glanced up at Teddy quickly. "I know _exactly_ what they're after. They just don't know where it is."

Teddy's eyebrows darted up. "What? What would Romnuk so desperately want?"

"The Sword of Gryffindor," Victoire replied, lowering her voice. "It's bleedingly obvious, isn't it? It's what they've always been after."

"The Sword," Teddy repeated. He shook his head slowly then moaned. He had twinged his neck.

"They searched Gringotts for it. They're trying to get into Hogwarts to find it. They don't know it's being displayed in Gryffindor common room. I would see it every time I had to check the noticeboard under the case."

"But why the Sword?"

"Dunno. But that must be it," she replied, squinting into the street. They had lined up all the bodies of the dead to be identified. People were falling to the cobble stones, crying over corpses. Teddy was refusing to look. He couldn't take it. He couldn't understand how Victoire could.

"After all that time spying on them, I never really understood what Romnuk was planning," he said quietly, thinking of all the blood.

"I think he thought we were just pieces in a very big game of chess that he's playing with the King. I don't think until now he's realised we're actually players too," she replied.

Hannah Longbottom was approaching them, climbing up the stairs. Her honey blonde hair was tied away from her face, exposing all the creased lines around her eyebrows and scowling lips. If she was approaching Teddy, it meant she had either she had finishing healing their injured or they were too far gone for her intervention. Either way, Teddy was dreading what came next.

She heaved a sigh at the top of the stairs. "We didn't just get back Gringotts. I have word from Neville that we've won Hogsmeade back as well."

"Finally, some good news," Teddy replied, smiling wanly.

"Time to reset that shoulder I think."

Teddy groaned, trying to be comical. Victoire offered her hand and he grasped it. "If I could face that dragon again, I would happily," he said.

* * *

In the highest tower, where potion fumes congealed in the vestibule of the stone chamber, several failed stones glimmering with a broken promise of eternity were scattered across the floor. Some were a vibrant, glossy scarlet; some so dark they were the colour of dried blood; others shimmery like strawberry jelly; some bleach-bone white or a sickly yellow. Rose stared at them numbly, her temple thumping.

"These look believable."

"They're not right. They're not working."

"We said it could be a counterfeit Stone. It doesn't have to work."

Stella's eyes were as dull as the failed stones, dark and dim. She stared at her failed experiments, lifeless. Rose watched her.

"You thought this would redeem you somehow," Rose said slowly. "That successfully making the Stone would get you out of a trial."

Stella turned her eyes listlessly to the young woman before her.

"We got Hogsmeade back. The goblins were driven out of Gringotts. They'll establish the Ministry again, and when they do, you will be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban," Rose said, "and recreating the Elixir of Life won't save you. Let me have those Stones and I'll let you out. You can go on the run."

For about a minute, Stella did not move. Her hollow face turned slowly to the stones on the floor. She picked one up and held it between her fingers.

"Give me one more chance to make it right," she murmured. "I just need some hemlock and foxglove. I can make it right."

* * *

Since classes were cancelled, Rose headed out into the open grounds to join the students scattered across the lawn or down by the lake. From a distance, she could see people dismantling the tents. The exiles were already returning to their homes in Hogsmeade.

Scorpius was with the other seventh year boys, sitting near the beach tree. Fleischer and Zabini both had their wands out, practising spells. Scorpius was reading, squinting at the book propped up on his knees.

"Any news?" Rose asked. "Rumours? Gossip?"

"I heard on a particularly reliable grapevine that they didn't get Romnuk," Scorpius said. He turned a page.

They heard someone call out in the distance and Rose looked over her shoulder. Alice and Isabella were scrambling down the slope, their arms linked. Isabella waved.

Rose turned back to Scorpius. "And who was the source?"

"One of your lot," Zabini answered. "Lily, I think."

"How does that girl get her information?"

"Probably spies on her parents."

"Hey," Isabella said, coming to a halt before them. She wasn't in uniform—rather, she was wearing jeans and a button up silk shirt. She extracted her wand. "Want to duel two against two for a little while? Alice and I are bored of practising on each other."

"Malfoy has us duelling every night. Can't we give it a break?" Fleischer sighed. "We just had a huge victory, didn't we?"

"They haven't told us that yet," Alice replied sharply. "Anyway, duelling might take the edge off."

Both boys reluctantly agreed, pairing off with the girls. They moved a little further down to the lake, standing several paces apart. Rose watched them a little while.

"Want to place a bet?" she asked. "Alice and Isabella will win."

"I don't like my odds if I side against that," Scorpius chuckled, bookmarking his page. He turned his grey eyes on Rose, peering into her. "Are you alright?"

"What're you reading?"

He glanced down and tapped the front cover. "Some of those Restricted Section books we picked up from the library. Expanding my mind with some light reading."

"So you think this isn't the end?" Rose confirmed. "Won a battle but could still lose the war?"

"I think you won't want to stop until your hands are around Romnuk's throat," Scorpius replied intently. "And I think the turmoil won't stop until the Goblin King falls."

Rose tugged the book out of Scorpius' lap and flipped to the page he was reading from. Fiendfyre. Corporeal magic similar to a Patronus Charm, a dark extension of the very worst parts of a person. Not the soul's protection, but its predator.

"You're curious about Dark Magic now, are you?"

"Must run in the family," he replied drolly, rolling his eyes.

So it was evident that he had begun preparing in his own ways. Rose gazed at the diagrams, the flickering images of snakes and chimeras with tongues of flames. Down by the lake, Zabini sent Alice toppling backwards into the water.

"About this morning—" Scorpius began ruefully.

"It's fine. If you don't want anything to do with Bellucci, I'll manage it."

"You were right about us training," he said, cutting in across her. "To teach them. I have a feeling we will need to leave soon."

"I have my mother's bag packed."

"If you don't mind, include my potions kit as well. And—you still have the armour?"

"Matchstick sized."

They watched as Isabella was Disarmed. Rose winced, staring down at the girls by the water.

"The boys have been practicing."

"Every night."

So he had been preparing, and with serious intent. In fact, there was something steely in his eyes again. She hadn't seen them so hard in a very long time. Rose tossed his book back in his direction.

"I'll have to step up my game, then," she said.

* * *

Once washed and clean, her wet hair slicked back, Victoire stepped out to join Teddy on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. Charing Cross Road roared with cars and the fumes from exhaust pipes. London crouched inside the walls of its stubborn bricked buildings, cramming in the tourists and businessmen and police officers. Teddy almost tripped over a bright orange road cone and had to grab her arm for support.

"I hate it here," Victoire realised, the sort of way you do when you're in your mid twenties and what was familiar no longer seems palatable. She gazed around then ducked her gaze, picking dragon blood out from under her nails. "Honestly, I've never been one for city life."

Teddy murmured his agreement, flexing his mended shoulder. They chose a pub called The Cambridge next to a muggle money exchange and ordered two beers, before realising too late that they had no muggle money. Victoire surreptitiously Confounded the waiter and deposited a Galleon in the cash register because gold was gold, wasn't it, and there wasn't a Ministry to enforce the Statute of Secrecy.

"I wouldn't mind returning to Romania," Teddy said, as if reading his wife's mind. "Or maybe Portugal or France or Spain."

"All brilliant options," she agreed, sipping her ale.

They gulped at their beers. Teddy studied her for a moment, uncharacteristically serous. Her hair was still wet. She felt a bead of water slide down her neck and drip onto the collar of her shirt.

"You are the most fierce and brave and terrifying person I know," Teddy said, as if remarking about the taste of their beer.

She stared at a muggle newspaper lying on one of the tables, her eyes glazing over as she tried to hold the skirmish of Gringotts at bay in her mind. The front page was ringed where a wet glass had sat, smudging the ink, 'London Bridge Terror Plotter Imprisoned'. She glanced up and noticed the man at the table gazing at her agog. She turned back to Teddy.

"I've lost track of the muggle world," she admitted.

"So have I."

"Let's go back to Romania," Victoire replied and Teddy seemed quite surprised by her finality. "Not forever. But you're right. I don't want to be fighting here unless we have to."

* * *

Round table causerie was never Harry's favourite pastime. But this more intimate autopsy of events was a necessity even he wouldn't deny. He had just feasted on the grizzly entrails of his best friend's recount of the battle he had been excluded from.

"They're mostly flushed out. Romnuk's evaded us though," Ron sighed. "I reckon he withdrew into the mountains outside the village, but who knows?"

"I reckon Base Bowfell is next. It's the only place they have left to retreat."

"And you think that's where Romnuk is?"

"I don't doubt it."

They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione dragged her fingers over her face. "James said that's where the map of the Goblin Kingdom is located as well. We can't find the Kingdom without the map."

"So it's the next logical move," Ron agreed.

"Yes, but how do we find that room or that map?" Hermione persisted. "I mean, Orlick and his band of goblins have been rather That with Gringotts' blueprints, but none of them have ever been in Mount Bowfell. The mountain is enormous. It's a maze inside. The only one who knows the way is James and we certainly can't bring him with us."

Harry stared flatly for a moment across the staffroom. He rubbed his eyes and nodded slowly. "But maybe…maybe James can bring us with him."

"Losing his marbles, he is," Ron muttered.

"Not exactly," Harry replied, tweaking a smile. "I just have a massive favour to ask my son."

* * *

Over the course of the last few years, particularly as his sons became adult men, Harry found himself thinking back on the influence Dumbledore had left upon him. The older Harry became, the more complex his relationship with Dumbledore seemed to become. The imago of his hero, muddied and then cleansed, was peeled away to reveal a man that was so very much human. A man that Harry had revered then resented and finally recognised in himself.

To ask his children to fight to take part in a war he should have known how to prevent felt fundamentally wrong, and yet it truly seemed like the only available option. While he loved them, he still needed to use them.

The difference was, unlike Albus—and unlike Harry himself—James was not willing. James was not a lamb stepping up to be slaughtered. James was a manic presence, all emotion and no sagacity. Albus would have risked his life to fight whether Harry asked him to or not. For James, there was no such reasoning.

Harry would not ask James to fight. Even if he completely disregarded his son's wellbeing, he still knew it would be impossible to coerce James into it. He had his mother's stubbornness. But he still asked of him a terrible favour, one that a loving father never would.

He asked James to return to the memories of Base Bowell and take Harry with him.

And while James initially refused, as Harry knew he would, he invoked the tactics of manipulation that Dumbledore himself had been too devoted to use on him. But he had to do it. For Harry remembered the consequences of his fifth year at Hogwarts, the death of his godfather and the reign of Voldemort solidifying, all because Dumbledore cared more for his peace of mind than his plan.

It was now time for Harry to care more for their plans than his son's peace of mind.

"So if I don't do this you're saying people will literally die?" James repeated, his eyes burning and bloodshot. He reared back, shaking his head furiously. "No—you can't make me relive those things. For months _you've_ been saying I need to work hard to move on and heal."

"How are you supposed to heal when the people who you love will keep dropping like flies?" Harry demanded. "James, _listen to me_. You don't have to come with me into the memories if you don't want to. But if you want this war to end—for Romnuk to pay for his crimes, for the Goblin King to fall—then we need you to do this. We have to strike now while they're still scattered and weak."

And because he knew James was just a drop bolder than he was stubborn, and because he knew that his loyalty outweighed his trauma, with resentful reluctance he agreed to use Dumbledore's Pensieve to return Harry to those harrowing memories. He syphoned the memories out of his head like loose silvery shoelaces. And it was under Dumbledore's painted periwinkle stare that Harry entered the memory alone, in the Headmaster's office.

And inside those murky memories, inside a mountain, Harry retraced his son's frantic steps. Winding tunnels and labyrinthine chambers. And the James in the memory bolted down those passages like a hound, head first and sprinting, wand in hand. Bold and reckless. He came to a water mote and a sliver of a ridge to cross. He came to a puzzle that he puzzled out. And finally, Harry not only knew the way inside the mountain, but also has laid his eyes upon the map leading to the Goblin Kingdom.

And perhaps the look that James gave him, furious and cold, the look of someone who had been used, was still worth the knowledge that Harry had attained. It had to be.

* * *

 **Editor's Note - It's Van's birthday today, and yesterday was Halloween so it's a time of great celebration! Van has surrendered her Author's note to me - happiest of birthdays to you, my dear. Over the writing of this chapter, we had many conversations about the nuances of each character over cups of tea and procrastination. I'm loving editing this story - I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and the wondrous person who wrote it.**


	7. Chapter Six

**–** **CHAPTER SIX –**

When he arrived for dinner, Scorpius noticed that the Potter and Weasley families were gathered at the end of Gryffindor table together. Both parents and children sat around the humble dishes of onion soup and potato salad. They were uncharacteristically tense, so much so that they resembled his own family unit during a Christmas eve formal dinner. He was not used to seeing Harry look quite so tight-lipped. He kept sliding his fingers under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. James was refusing to look at him, sitting beside his mother with his entire body swerved towards his younger sister as if he could wipe the site of his father completely from view.

If it weren't for all the freckles and the less ambrosial spread, he could have sworn it was a mirror spinning back the Malfoy family over a meal—everyone was so utterly miserable.

He was about to find Isabella to take a seat beside her when he saw a hand pop up quickly from amid the inner circle, and it was Hugo Weasley waving him over.

"Hello," Scorpius said, a little awkwardly. Everyone immediately perked up, even Ron Weasley, which was an indication that they were truly desperate for distraction. Every single one of their children looked relieved to see them, their expression urging him to sit down. Lily scooted to one side to open up a space between herself and James.

"We're just having a family dinner," Ginny said, falsely bright, as if it needed to be stated. "Would you like to join us, Scorpius?"

Of course, he was being invited. He was their buffer. Tonight was the night that the exclusive Order members were leaving on a secretive Order mission, no doubt to track down Romnuk and the handful of goblins that remained alive. They were scheduled to leave in only an hour or two, where the immediate darkness would shroud their excursion. Rose was particularly surly about it. She stabbed her potato salad with great vigour. Scorpius decided to sit next to her to play the watchdog, to stop her from throwing a colossal fit that upended the little food on the table.

Without being able to explain the urge, Scorpius turned sharply to the teacher's platform at the front of the hall. It was mostly empty, and his father was certainly missing from the table. His father was most likely eating his humble dinner with his mother in their dungeon quarters, away from prying eyes. If it weren't for Scorpius, they would have never stayed. They would have fled the country many months ago. He wasn't sure whether it was guilt or irritation he felt. He had never asked them to stay.

Scorpius couldn't stand the veil of deference hanging over their meal. The Potter-Weasley brood had always been famously warm during meals. After swallowing a spoonful of soup, he leaned forward to address Hermione on Rose's other side. Hermione at least genuinely liked him.

"It looks like most of the Hogwarts residents have returned to their homes," he said. "I suppose there's quite a lot of cleaning up to do."

But what he had said, however innocuous, struck a nerve. James let his spoon fall into his half empty bowl with a clatter. Lily grabbed his wrist but he pulled it free and sent his long sprawling legs over the bench chair.

"Not hungry," he grunted, and took off down the hall towards the doors.

The Potters collectively sighed. Harry stared after James until the doors had shut behind him, then ran a hand over his face again. Scorpius could feel the heat rising to his cheeks in two blotches.

"Er, pardon me," he said, clearing his throat. "I did not meant to—"

"No, it's fine," Harry said, dropping his hand and smiling patiently at Scorpius. "Let James go. And your observation is right, Scorpius. Everyone is returning to Hogsmeade."

"But things haven't really gone back to normal, have they?" Hugo piped up. "I mean, it sort of feels like limbo, doesn't it?"

"I mean, how do they even go about setting up the government when so many wizards and witches have fled or been killed?" Lily burbled on, sharing words she had obviously discussed with Hugo behind closed doors. "Who's going to be the Minister now? Do we just go to another election?"

Albus glanced at his father then smiled half-heartedly. Scorpius could read that look exactly. Harry Potter had been rumoured to become the next Minister for Magic for as long as Scorpius could remember. It had irked his own father enormously over the years. Of course, Harry had always scoffed at the suggestion back then.

"We'll have to cross that bridge when we get there," Harry said diplomatically.

"I don't really think the battle is over yet," Rose said quietly.

They all leaned forward to look at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Things are messy in the Goblin Kingdom," she said slowly. "They've had their own civil insurgencies. We've just been the collateral damage."

"But the Kobold Könige are looking to bring down the Goblin King, not us," Hugo argued. "They've already killed Gladstone and basically destroyed their King's economic ties to us—which, mind you, will have hurt their King just as much as it has hurt us. So what business would they have attacking us now?"

"I think it's time we best have some desert," Ron said loudly, gesturing to the treacle tart on the table.

"Hugo," Scorpius said, raising his brows and pausing. "You're not that thick, surely. The Kobold Könige have repeatedly tried to get into Hogwarts. They need something from us before they turn on their King."

"And it's obvious what it is, isn't it?" Lily said, looking between the boys. "The Sword? Wouldn't that be it?"

As soon as she had said it, it seemed painfully palpable. Why else would the goblins try to get into the school, even still, when they had all but crippled their King? They wanted the Sword of Gryffindor.

Scorpius turned sharply to Albus, whose eyes were very large.

"Yes, well lucky that sword is very well protected," Harry said with complete finality.

"And lucky that the goblins are all but driven out of Britain," Ron added.

But Ron had done anything but pacify the group's unrest. Rose immediately turned on him, as if something had been switched on in her. Her leg was jiggling beside Scorpius'.

"You think Romnuk retreated? To that mountain James went to?"

"We think it's only him and a handful of Kobold Könige members left after Hogsmeade," Hermione said patiently. "And it's likely that's where they'll be. Orlick confirmed that it's the only place left in the United Kingdom where they could hide."

Rose rushed on furiously, "I should come with you."

Hermione's brown eyes studied her daughter's fresh, freckled face. Ron sighed heavily.

"It's better if you stay here, Rose. Only a few of us are going."

Rose was silent and sullen again. If her mother was going after Romnuk, she wanted to be there. There was no mistaking that look in her electric blue eyes; already she was thinking of ways that she, Scorpius and Albus may be able to catch up with the Order. They already knew how to sneak off the school grounds through the Forbidden Forest. Surely they could do it again.

As if her mother had also read her mind, she gave her daughter a reproachful look. She lowered her voice so that the others couldn't hear, speaking coaxingly into her ear so that Scorpius had to strain to hear her. "If you're planning to do anything at all," she said slowly, "there are only two things I ask of you, Rose."

Rose cocked her eyebrows, waiting impatiently for her mother to proceed. Scorpius almost smirked—Rose herself was guilty of the same tactic, always leaving the suspense hanging.

"I want you to only ever act if you think it will protect lives, not hurt them. Do you understand? No risks. We don't need any more deaths."

"The second thing?"

"Keep the bag I gave you packed and ready to go at all times."

"It's almost as if you think I'm about to _leave_ ," Rose replied a little more loudly, challenging her with a smile.

"I'm not dense, Rose. I was your age once. I disobeyed the Order. But I trust that you have enough sense to only do those things if there are no other options left, do you understand? A quest for revenge will never solve anything."

While the mother and daughter had been muttering to one another, Ginny had steered the direction of the group's conversation back towards resettling Hogsmeade. Harry was asking his remaining son and daughter where the Scamander's had gotten off to, needing an urgent favour from Rolf that involved the Romanian Sanctuary. There was a tone of safety in their conversation now, an implication that the threat was finally gone and it was simply a matter of tying up loose ends up. There couldn't be more than a dozen Kobold Könige members left and clearly this little knot of Order alumni thought they could handle it.

The tension was still there though. Scorpius could almost taste it. Rose wasn't all too daft with her silly ideas of Philosopher Stones after all, although her well meaning idea of trading it off for their freedom was probably smarter than trying to drive the last of the goblin rebels from their borders. What did they say? Cut off a snake's head and it can still bite.

* * *

Something had crystallised in Scorpius following the night of the feast, his heart candied into a toffee-hard sweet. Maybe it was Rose's phoenix revival that had inspired him, as she transitioned into a terrifyingly determined creature. There was no sadness left in her. Instead, she filled every room with her furious energy and ate her enemies like air. It left an impression on him.

Or maybe it was the raids, or what the Slytherin raids had become. Wake his roommates and duel for an hour. Wake the younger boys and have them duel each other. Intense regimes where they ran drill after drill until the sweat dripped down their backs and their fingers blistered around the handles of their wands. It had been Rose's idea, of course, but Scorpius was fond of the discipline. He was glad for the exhaustion he felt when he returned to bed just before dawn.

Or, maybe, it was the little black book in his possession. While he had confiscated it from Rose pretending it was for her own good, he had found himself drawn to it every evening. He would sit on his bed and pen down his thoughts in slick ink. He could feel Zabini and Fleischer press toward him in their curiosity before he drew the silky curtains around his bed. There was advice in there, of course, plenty to be found from the former seventh years that had also once poured over the pages of this book. He found advice on the best and most hidden books in the Restricted Section, the spells needed to unlock their covers, references to useful pages, inventive potion suggestions and self-created hexes or curses. The advice he found most interesting, one Wednesday afternoon, was from a neat cursive script that delicately explained the tricks behind being a gifted Parselmouth.

 _'_ _Charming a small serpent is easy if you possess the skill to speak Parseltongue. Charming a more intelligent and dangerous reptile—a basilisk, for instance—takes true command and talent.'_

And Scorpius had a creeping sensation that not all of this solicited advice was from well-meaning sources. He had to hold his mind away from himself, turn away from the truth of whose blood had touched these pages. Because he needed the knowledge—he was hungry for it in the way Rose had become hungry for blood—and he wanted to possess it all, to be prepared to face any enemy with a fully equipped arsenal.

Something in him had hardened, no matter how much he distanced himself from Rose's wild rhetoric. She was right. She was less in control of her own emotions, but she was _right_. Scorpius knew it. Soon, they would need to fight and nothing could be off limits anymore. He had a feeling he wasn't the only one thinking this way.

"Shit, Malfoy, put a bloody disclaimer on your reading material," Zabini muttered, flipping shut one of the books scattered on Scorpius' bed.

Protectively, he closed the little black notebook. But Zabini had only been referring to the other books strewn across his duvet. The page in question had been an illustration of how to turn a person inside out. It seemed almost comical when put simply but the diagrams were macabre, skinless sacks of organs and bones on display. Definitely not the usual material he would read at three in the morning.

"Sorry," he mumbled, scratching his jaw. The spells weren't proving useful anyway. Not only were they too complex, too convoluted, he wouldn't get them through the goblin armour. He tucked the little black notebook into his pyjama pocket.

Zabini leant against the chest of drawers and studied his roommate for a moment. He raised his thick eyebrows and waited, his gaze penetrating, until Scorpius distractedly looked up.

"What?" he demanded.

"You and Rose have really thrown yourself into the deep end with this," he noted, pointing at the library books. "Both of you are getting into some very Dark Magic."

"And that bothers you?" Scorpius retorted, raising his own eyebrows. "You've never struck me as being too concerned about learning the Dark Arts."

"I'm not. And like most Slytherins, I think the Dark Arts can be useful," Zabini said, moving across the room to sit on his own bed. He crossed his leg so his ankle perched on his opposite knee, the soles of his feet bare and pale compared to his skin. "But you're not like me, Malfoy—no offence. And Rose will be even worse if things unravel."

Scorpius twisted his body towards him, listening now. "Care to elaborate?"

"You both care too much. She probably cares more than you do, but you both have consciences. You'll use this magic and you'll either never recover from the guilt or never come back from the loony bin."

"You underestimate me," Malfoy replied coldly. "My head's locked down like a vault."

"But once you start diving into this very murky water, it'll be hard to come up for air. Do you really reckon you've got what it takes to dabble in the Dark Arts without turning dark yourself?"

He knew there was logic in what Zabini was saying. The more you dabbled in the Dark Arts, the more it changed the way you thought, the way you behaved. It wasn't that these spells were bad in themselves. Not even the Killing Curse was inherently evil. Using the Dark Arts in defence would be reasonable, Malfoy reasoned, as long as you knew how to draw the line.

Scorpius pushed the books away from him and turned so he completely faced Zabini now, his legs planted on the floor. It reminded Scorpius of being eleven years old, when Zabini and he would talk well into the evenings, but during classes or lunches they would act as if they had never spoken in their lives—as if they were embarrassed by their quiet acquaintance after dark.

"You think you're somehow immune to the effects of the Dark Arts?" Scorpius frowned.

Zabini snorted like a bull, belligerent towards the interrogation. "I'm immune to all those warm fuzzy feelings you nutters pride yourself on. That's the way I was born to be."

"So, no heart or soul to damage in the first place."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"I think," Scorpius said slowly, "that you like to use that as an excuse so you can stay hard. Perhaps you're not a very empathetic person, André, but I have seen you exercise both callousness and thoughtfulness. You can be surprisingly honourable when you feel like it."

He scoffed, as if the very thought of being honourable couldn't stick to him. His visible incredulity glanced off Scorpius, who remained stoic and solicitous.

"When?" Zabini demanded, frustrated by his peer's seriousness. "When have I proven to be honourable?"

"When you rejected Isabella knowing full well how easy it would be to manipulate her into doing whatever you wanted. Sexually, I mean," Scorpius clarified with great distaste, "because you were already using her to practically do all your homework. Or when you stopped pursuing Rose the moment you found out she was interested in me."

"That's not honour, you idiot," Zabini snapped back, almost offended. "That was fear of consequences. If I slept with Nott, do you have any idea how much of a pain in my arse she would become? She would be a clingy mess. And as for Rose, she wasn't worth it. It would mean putting up with your sulking every night before bed. I can fuck other girls with less drama. That's not honourable, that's common sense."

Scorpius shrugged, unabated by the tirade. "You can dress your motives however you like, Zabini. But the idea that you were somehow born bad, without any possibility of redemption, is nonsense."

"I dunno. You were born a pious prat who uses too many big words, and you seem to have held fast to that pattern of behaviour since you popped out of the womb."

Toby Fleischer opened their bedroom door, his piercing blue eyes catching the light of the green lanterns from the corridor outside. He grabbed his wand off the chest of drawers near the door.

"Lim said the girls aren't going to train tonight. We should wake the boys to get an early start."

The girls skipping a night raid was quite unusual, Scorpius was thinking, just as he felt the brass mirror heat up from the pocket of his pyjama trousers. He muttered beneath his breath and headed to the bathroom, snapping the door shut to answer the mirror in privacy.

Rose's expression jarred Scorpius out of his distraction. Her blue eyes were bright and wild, her face flushed, the picture wobbled on the glass as she must have been shaking. She took up the entire frame so he couldn't make out where she was. For a second, he wondered if she had somehow escaped the school grounds.

"What?" he asked, without greeting. His voice was high with panic. "Where are you?"

"I need you to, er, come to Bellucci's cell."

He felt his panic cool, like steam off ice. He said crisply, "I was planning a duelling raid with the boys tonight. I thought you and Albus were taking care of that."

"Scorpius," she replied sharply, her voice peaking. "I need _you_ right now, alright? And bring—bring a Bezoar."

* * *

Bringing the Bezoar had been a waste of his time. When Scorpius arrived, Bellucci had long been dead. Probably since early that morning. She had that cold, heavy weight that a corpse gets after a while. He noticed it when he bent to test her pulse. She had vomited before she died, or perhaps choked on her vomit. The air was full of the acrid stench of bile and urine, and in her death, there was nothing graceful about her.

The cauldron was still bubbling and just by the smell of it, Scorpius knew she had brewed her own poison.

"Right. Well, she killed herself."

"Oh shit," Rose muttered, running her hands over her face. "When my parents find out my mum will kill me."

"Don't be too distraught," Scorpius said drolly, frowning at Bellucci's body. When he turned back to Rose he noticed that she was shaking. He softened a little. "We were going to set her free. She knew that would either mean living on the run or being sentenced to a life in Azakaban. She chose her own way out."

Which seemed fitting, he wanted to add. Bellucci's poisons had killed so many innocent people. It was not surprising that she had died by her own hand. Scorpius bent down and collected the ruby red stones off the floor, mockeries of the real Philosopher's Stone. They were good copies. They could almost be the real thing.

"Shit, shit," Rose muttered, rubbing her hands over her face. "Scorpius, what do we do? We can't just leave her body here. We need to get rid of it—burn it. Or bury it. If the house elves find out—no, let's just move it now. Oh Merlin, but we'll be seen. I mean, she would still be alive if I hadn't given her a cauldron. I can't explain this to my mum right now, she's about to leave for a bloody mountain and she trusts me not to kill anyone—"

"Calm down," Scorpius said, pocketing the stones. He moved across to Rose and hugged her firmly, his arms tight, holding her fast until she was no longer shaking. Then he let her go.

"Why didn't you ask for Albus?" he said, now that she was a bit steadier.

Rose looked at him as if he were dense. "If you think I'm panicking then imagine Albus in this situation. He'd have a right meltdown. You're—you're the one who can deal with these sorts of things without getting emotional."

He wasn't sure whether it was flattering or offensive. Whether she considered him stone cold or heartless. It was his favourite ever potions professor lying dead on the floor in abject disgust. Bellucci, who he had so admired, who had been so defamed, now dead by her own cruel hands.

Even still, Scorpius was able to swallow down his revulsion and anguish as if taking a very bitter pill. He felt the part of himself that his father had duteously trained kick into gear. His mind hardened, closing like a fist, as if everything taking place outside of it was somehow removed to himself.

"I have a plan," he said, lowering his voice. He was thinking of all the books from the Restricted Section he had read in recent weeks. A chance to practice that magic on a real life cadaver. "I have a plan that'll allow us to bury Bellucci properly and see it so your stupid Stone will be worth something. But you don't ask questions. I'm in charge now."

Rose blinked at him rapidly, almost in gratitude, her blue eyes still wide and electric.

Zabini was right. She couldn't deal with Dark Magic. She couldn't handle being responsible for her actions. She would do it anyway, of course. How she would survive killing Romnuk he would never know. Which is why he had to take charge.

"The spell I have in mind is complex Transfiguration and the book is sitting on my bed," he said, gripping her arm. "You need to go fetch it for me. It's called _Corporeal Magic For Corpses_."

"You need to run a midnight raid as usual tonight with the girls for one hour. Tomorrow, we pretend like it never happened, alright? We pretend she just ran away."

"Wait—where will you be?"

"I said no questions."

Rose swallowed hard, nodded once and turned. Scorpius was suddenly left alone, his mind working furiously.

He bent down and vanished the vomit from Bellucci's face with a quick Scouring Charm. He then tilted her head back, her mouth falling slackly open so that her pretty lips revealed the stench that came from deep within her poisoned belly. With his wand he removed one of her teeth with a crack.

He would have his own midnight raid to carry out, and the rules meant that he couldn't take the girls with him. Rose would stay behind. But perhaps for the better.

* * *

"What're you doing?"

Albus heard his sister ask this as he stood on top of a chair he had dragged across Gryffindor tower, wand wheedling at the corners of the glass case mounted on the wall. He was immediately annoyed upon hearing Lily's voice. Soon half the Castle would know the news that he was unhinged, trying to rip a priceless artefact from its case.

"Just a little experiment," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Albus, don't you pay attention to anything?"

"Hmm?"

"Mum has told that story about when she, Uncle Neville and Aunty Luna stole the Sword of Gryffindor about a hundred times. Remember? The only way you can remove the sword is through an act of bravery worthy enough for it to be presented to you—"

"Right, right," Albus said, jumping off his chair and swivelling around. "And did mum say how she did it?"

Lily rolled her dark brown eyes, flashing him with the exact same look his mother would have given him.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you if you won't pay attention in the first place. Anyway, the sword isn't supposed to be removed from its case."

"What if it was an emergency?"

Lily tilted her head to the side, puzzled.

"What kind of emergency?"

"Never mind."

"Well, if you're trying to get the Sword of Gryffindor out of its case it must be for a particularly good reas—"

"Never mind, Lily! I won't try and take it out from its case, alright!" Albus argued back, returning his wand to his robes.

He jumped off the chair and gave the case a final, fleeting look. Now that he was thinking a little bit more clearly, he knew Lily was right. The sword was well protected in its case. It was charmed tightly shut and his attempts to break the glass had failed. If he was unable to get it out, then the goblins certainly wouldn't be able to.

It was best to leave it safely where it was, guarded by the glass, guarded by the portrait's password, guarded by the walls of the school and the charmed soil that was impossible to dig through. There was no use removing the sword—but it still nagged at Albus. _Why_? Why did they so desperately want it?

"Mum and dad have already left with the Order, haven't they?" Albus asked.

"Yes, right after dinner."

The goblins may not be able to break the case to get the Sword, but that wouldn't stop them from dismantling it from the wall and stealing the entire case unharmed. To what end did they need the Sword?

"Right. Well, there's still someone I can ask."

Lily watched her brother sprint from the room, still shaking her head after him with her hands on her hips. "Even if you were to ask Neville or Luna, it's not as if they'll tell you how to get the sword out!"

"I'm not trying to get the sword out! Merlin, Lil, sod off, will you?"

"You've lost your bloody marbles!" she exclaimed after him, but he had already shut the portrait behind him.

* * *

 _Taphonomic Transfiguration_

 _In this chapter, Transfiguration will be explored as a means of dispersing human remains, with a focus specifically on bones (return to chapter 2 for the decomposition of other organic tissues through potions and solutions). Putrefying bone is more difficult than other organic matter. While it is possible to completely decompose bone through highly advanced Dark Magic, it can be preferable to transform a body into a single bone. There are other benefits, too. Basic Taphonomic Transfiguration partially retains the bone, allowing it to be used in future as a key ingredient in potion making. Alternatively, by using this spell, it is much easier to hide the bone or retain it as a keepsake. For instance, in the Middle Ages, Egbert the Egregious transfigured the bodies of his victims into single bones, which he then kept as a token of his duels. Below is a diagram of the necessary wand movement required to complete this spell successfully._

Scorpius studied the page assiduously, his thin finger trailing the instructions of the spell. He could feel Rose reading over his shoulder. He snapped the book shut and handed it to her, readying his wand.

"You might want to leave for this," he warned.

"No," she said quietly. She took hold of his arm and lowered it. "This is my fault. I'm sorry you're cleaning up my mess again."

Scorpius turned back to her steadily, his face mask-like. While that expression had once unnerved her, she only felt calm reassurance looking into his eyes. It was as if he were untouchable, no matter how chaotic everything became around him. It was such a strange thing, but she utterly trusted whatever he was about to do next.

"Go back downstairs. Don't get caught."

"What if I need you?" she pressed urgently.

Calmly, he replied, "I'll have the mirror in my pocket."

"Be careful."

She was struck with how intensely she loved him. Despite all of his misgivings, he remained like marble. Secure and unmoveable.

It wasn't like before, the kind of fluffy love she had been too embarrassed to name. She recalled that as if looking up from a very deep well, this bright and superficial thing hanging up above her head, vaporous and intangible. This was different. She felt it like a bass to their every word. Even in their exchange just now, it hummed like an undercurrent. _And if I need you? Be careful._ Their words were an exchange of love far more certain than whatever they shared in their fifth and sixth years. She was overwhelmed by how much he had loved her, since the very start, perhaps since he was eleven years old. Had he always felt what she felt now?

She opened her mouth to tell him, to explain this revelation, but Scorpius shook is head and pushed her hand firmly closed around the book.

"We don't have time for questions. Go back downstairs and I'll see you later tonight, after you're done with the girls' duel."

Rose nodded and licked her dry lips. She stuffed the parchment into her pyjama pocket. There would be time to talk after this was done.

As soon as the door shut, Scorpius turned back to Bellucci's body. His stomach turned. Human Transfiguration always made him nervous, but it wasn't as if they could kill Bellucci twice. There was no point being sentimental now—she was dead.

He wasn't usually afraid of dead things, comfortable around the creepily pickled items in the potion's cabinet or the preserved relics in his father's office. But this was death most uncomfortable, where it was not wrapped up in grief or loss or spectacle. A corpse to be turned into a single bone, buried and forgotten.

He swallowed hard and turned his nerves to steel.

* * *

Finding a goblin was harder than Albus had anticipated. He had searched half the school without luck before doubling back to the common room, ruffling through his trunk until he extracted the Marauder's Map.

There were far less dots to search, so with the Map it didn't take him long. Orlick could be found in a series of underground chambers but it wasn't clear where the entrance to these chambers were. Albus muttered in frustration, flicking his wand over the map to check what was above them. They were beneath the grand staircase.

It was getting late and Albus wanted to find Orlick before curfew, but as he was leaving the dormitory, Map now tucked into his back pocket, he almost collided head first with Lorcan.

"Aw mate, you're just the person I wanted to see. Look, James is a right mess at the moment. D'you reckon you can have a quick word with him?"

"Lorcan," Albus said, a little impatiently, "you're closer to James than I am. Perhaps you—"

"He won't speak to me, Albus. Please, could you just come to have a chat with him? I wouldn't ask if I weren't worried."

Albus took a deep breath and sighed. "Sure. Where is he?"

"Here's in the first year dorm."

"W-what?"

"Well, they've packed up tent city and that's where we were living. And everyone has either moved back into the village or headed for Diagon Alley to join the troops there. But since last night, James has been—well, it might just be best if you have a chat with him mate."

Albus pocketed his wand. Orlick would need to wait after all.

* * *

James was sitting on one of the first year beds, the room vacant ever since last summer. It still had the awful smell of old socks that seemed to stick to first year dorms like the ghost of the dirty eleven year old boys who used to inhabit it.

Albus knew from years of experience that James was in a mood. He could tell by the hunch of his shoulders, the way he was pulling at the sleeves on his shirt. If they had been younger, these would have been the signs of an impending tantrum. But on profile he could see that James' lips were shut tight. Ever since last year, he had been shut tight as a box.

"You alright, James?"

"No."

He was surly, refusing to turn around. Albus came around to him instead, kneeling so that he was able to look up into his brother's face.

"D'you think I'm a coward?" James asked suddenly.

"No. Who's calling you a coward?"

"Dad did."

"That's not like Dad."

"Well, he did, alright?"

To his surprise, James recounted the night before—agreeing to his father's request to retrieve his thoughts for the Pensieve. He even explained what had happened in the memory, putting words to something he was having a hard time getting out. Albus kneeled before him listening, never interrupting. He explained that Lorcan wanted to move to Diagon Alley to join the others there but James didn't want to. He didn't want to be in anyone's army. And maybe it was wrong of him to be a Gryffindor after all, because he clearly was a coward.

For some reason, Abus' thought flickered to that forbidden place where Imogen was locked, where she too had guiltily shrunk under that label. How unfair that label was.

"You're not a coward, James. And Dad wasn't saying you were a coward. He just needed your help. He wasn't calling you a coward. He was asking you to be brave. And he only asked because he knew you could."

James sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face.

"Being brave is feeling scared but doing the thing anyway. You used to be fearless, James, and that made you reckless. Now you know what being brave really feels like."

Albus took his brother's hands and lowered them from his eyes, giving them a squeeze. James gave him a smile, the side of his mouth twisting up hopefully. He took in his brother's appearance and realised that he was still dressed to go out—sneakers on, jeans and a jumper, parchment sticking out of his back pocket that could only be the Map.

"Where are you going?" James frowned.

"Er, it's a bit hard to explain. I'm trying to find the entrance to some chambers under the school. They're under the staircase but I can't seem to find the entrance."

"Give it here," James said. "I think I know the ones. I think I can help."

* * *

There was no moon and a filmy layer of cloud even blotted out the stars. Scorpius didn't mind this. The darkness wrapped around them like an invisibility cloak. It made it easier to get down to the Forbidden Forest.

"This is still a raid, so all rules apply. We don't talk about this tomorrow morning, understood? We pretend like it never happened."

Scorpius withdrew the single bone from his cloak and kneeled down to the wet earth, scooping it aside with his wand until he had made a shallow shoe-box sized grave. He buried the bone in it, carefully packing the dirt over it in the limited light of his wand.

"What sort of night raid is this?" Fleischer asked uneasily, staring at the bone.

Scorpius stood, dusting his hand on his cloak. They had passed Hagrid's hut. They were at the point where the walkway began at the mouth of the Forbidden Forest. Scorpius lowered his weak wand beam to the damp panels.

"We need some potion ingredients," he said, conjuring a glass beaker and handing it to Fleischer.

"Can't you filch them from the cupboard?" Zabini muttered.

"They aren't your usual potions ingredients."

They began their walk slowly, their feet crunching on the ground. He could feel the hyper-vigilance of the young men behind him, the way they desperately peered into the dark brush around them.

When they got to a certain point, Scorpius stopped and hovered his wand in the palm of his hand like a compass. He paused for a moment, then turned sharply off the path.

"Wait—" Fleischer muttered, shuffling after him, "Is it safe to go off the path? Aren't there giant spiders in this forest?"

"That's one of the things we're looking for."

"You've got to be shitting me," Zabini stopped, his wand held tightly.

"Don't fret. We just need to find their eggs."

"Their _what_?"

"We must be close by," Scorpius muttered, raising his wand. " _Accio_."

The other two men froze, eyes wide, staring at Scorpius as if he were mad. But he remained utterly calm, his wand shining blindingly into the thick, dark trees around them until something came whirling towards him—a long, silvery piece of fine ribbon.

"Well, they'll certainly know we're here now, but at least this'll make our job quicker," Scorpius said, grabbing the silvery strand.

"Is that—a—a spider web?"

Scorpius didn't respond. He was already following the web quickly, almost pulling on it as he walked, a ghostly version of Ariadne's thread taking them to the monster in the middle of this labyrinth.

"We're almost at the colony. Look, we won't have very long. I'll be performing some very complex magic," Scorpius explained, speaking very quickly. "Our main concern is that the mother spider will be guarding the egg sac. All I need you to do is taking some of the silvery silk from the egg sac and bottle it."

"You've gone _mental_."

"Are you ready? We're almost there," Scorpius said, and they were indeed descending now, the forest floor sloping downwards. They could hear clicking and scurrying. The vibrations on the web had set all the spiders off. While they had now become too gormless to speak, both men were trembling from fear.

Scorpius let go of the strand of spider web. He took his wand and gave it a flourishing twist, murmuring, " _Serpensortia_." A snake burst from the tip of his wand, and a moment later, he was enlarging it with an Engorgement Charm so it was twenty, then thirty times it's size and as thick as a tree trunk. It hissed menacingly, swaying where it stood.

And Scorpius was hissing too, hissing like the snake, hissing and spitting with his teeth clenched. The snake was moving forward slowly, its heavy body sliding across the mulch and crunching the skeletons of small vermin beneath it. And whatever was beyond their point of vision in the dark was frantically scattering away, hundreds of feet and pincers clicking through the dark.

Fleischer blinked hard and then twisted his wand behind him, beneath where Scorpius stood. In the beam of the wand, he saw the glistening egg sac in a web as thick as rope, a spider the size of a car perched on top of it.

"This is fucking mental," he whispered.

"It's quite alright," Scorpius replied, returning to English and sounding so calm it was absurd. "I'll get the mother away. Just be quick to get the silk around the egg sac."

The entire scene was nightmarish. It did cross their minds to turn and run, but something kept them rooted to the ground. Then, Scorpius hissed again and the enormous snake began slithering back in their direction. Whatever Scorpius was saying in Parseltongue was no longer directed at the snake, but at the spider.

The snake lunged forward, snapping at the spider, and it snapped its pincers back. But it must have been terrified, shrinking further away from its precious cargo, its many eyes glinting in the light of their wands. The snake snapped again, spurred on by Scorpius, until finally they had a clear path to the eggs.

"Give me a bloody boost, will you?" Fleischer demanded of Zabini, who was still standing slack jawed. He checked himself and then aimed his wand at Toby, levitating him carefully up until the air with a simple charm and getting him close enough to the eggs without tangling him in the web. Fleischer used his wand to spool up the silver thread like candy floss, then shoved it into the glass beaker.

"We've got it," he called, as Zabini (rather roughly) returned him to the ground.

"Go ahead of me to the path," Scorpius said, speaking gently. He was backing away slowly, his attention still on the enormously oversized snake. As he backed away, the snake followed him as if it were on an invisible leash. The wand light shifted over its scales. "The spiders won't follow."

They were already feeling the ground slope back upwards. They were out of the spiders' den.

"Please tell me we can go back to the Castle now."

Scorpius was shrinking the snake back to its normal size now, his wand pointed at it precisely. "There's just one more thing we need."

* * *

James led Albus up to the third floor, down a corridor behind a locked door where a trapdoor blended into the flagstone ground. He pulled it open and they peered down into what must have been a three-storey drop. A metal chute extended from the trapdoor like a slide.

"Pretty sure this is where they guarded the Philosopher's Stone when Dad was at school," James explained. "Found it in third year."

Albus squinted down into the dark. His heart squeezed. He lowered himself into the steep chute.

"Wait, I'm coming with you."

Albus looked up, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"If you're going to question a goblin, I'm not letting you go alone."

There would be no danger in speaking to Orlick. He was on the Order's side. But James had that fiery look in his eyes that had long been dormant. In fact, Albus was quite glad to see it. He nodded, and with a gulp, let go of the trap door.

With a rush of cool air and the drop of his stomach, Albus found himself skidding to the bottom of the slide and coming to a gentle halt. He was in a large chamber, deep underground he assumed, with bracketed candles along the wall. He took out the Map to study as James came whooshing down the chute behind him, seeing with relief that Orlick was still up ahead.

They walked on, wands out and lit, noticing that the passage sloped downwards and trickling water could be heard down the walls. As they reached the end of the passageway, it opened up into a dazzlingly lit chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. There was a table and chair, a simple mattress. In the middle of the Spartan set up sat Orlick, a diamond saw in his hands as he carved a small slab of granite. He looked up and did not seem surprised to find the intruders before him.

"Hello, Orlick," Albus said, lowering his wand. "I'm sorry to barge in like this at such a late hour but I had some urgent questions and—and my parents have already left for Mount Bowfell. I thought you'd be the best person to ask."

Orlick regarded the two brothers carefully, placing down his working tools slowly. He gestured towards the bed, then positioned his chair in that direction.

"I have time," he agreed, inviting them over.

* * *

Back on the path once more, their feet clattering along the boards, the three boys were straining their ears to make sure they weren't being followed. In the womb of the forest, all sounds were submerged and alarming. A twitch of leaves, the hoot of an owl, the scurry of a fox. Everything sounded sinister.

"How'd you get those spiders to flee?" Zabini asked, curious.

"I told them that the snake was a Basilisk. Acromantula are terrified of Basilisks so I thought it would be easy to fool them."

Scorpius, who had always been so quiet and feeble as a boy, was startlingly in control. His face was hard and pale in the little light from his wand.

"What else do we need? Can't be worse than those spiders?" Zabini asked.

"Well, it's not as dangerous. But certainly worse."

Both the boys hung back. After a few more steps without them, Scorpius sighed and turned to face them. Their faces were suspended in the gloom, furious and staring.

"If you're going to make us risks our lives you need to tell us why," Zabini snapped.

"This is a midnight raid. You do what I tell you."

"Bollocks," Fleischer snapped. "This isn't some stupid challenge in the common room. We could've died—"

"No one is risking their life except me," Scorpius said calmly. "You two won't be in danger."

He was already turning to move on. But his roommates were finding their fury now, following him at his heels.

"Oi! Tell us what's going on, or we leave you in here alone."

Scorpius gritted his teeth and came to a stop. "I need unicorn blood, alright? These were the only two ingredients I can't find in a potion's cupboard. And it's not just a silly potion I'm learning for kicks—this is a part of a bigger plan. To stop the goblins."

The boys were both still now, processing this. Toby was thrumming his fingers against the glass beaker in his pocket. His fingernails made a high tinkling sound like laughter. After a few beats of silence, Scorpius turned around once more and continued walking. They followed him once more, a little less aggressively now.

"But—if you kill a unicorn—don't you get cursed?" Toby implored, sounding worried.

"There's no evidence of that," Scorpius said shortly. "It's just a wizarding superstition to deter people from slaying unicorns."

"Well, if it turns out to be _true_ , it's a right lot worse than 'May-born witches marry Muggles', isn't it?" Zabini demanded. "Is it worth gambling a superstition like that?"

"You two won't be killing it in any case, will you? So I don't know why you are so worried."

Zabini and Toby shared a furtive look and didn't argue any further. Their adrenalin propelled them on through the dark, until, after what felt like ages, they came into a glen filled with a warm silver light.

Unlike the spider's den, the unicorn glen was filled with a glow that pushed away the dense darkness. The radiance of the unicorns was breathtaking. Their pounding heartbeats eased, but instead they were filled with an impending dread. There were only two unicorns, one smaller than the other, and both asleep.

"How much blood do you need?" Zabini asked quietly.

"Just a phial," Scorpius replied quietly, rolling up his sleeves. His face was set and pale in the light. Sweat beaded on his forehead, along his silver hairline.

"What's the curse supposed to do?" Fleischer added nervously.

"I don't believe it's like a wizard's curse," Scorpius said quietly. He licked his lips. He was hesitating slightly, his wand not entirely raised. "I think it's like using Avada Kedavra. I think it damages your soul."

This was somehow worse. The idea that one's soul would be damaged, perhaps beyond repair, was a more formidable curse—especially for someone like Scorpius. There was something very whole about him. Something that was about to fracture. It could be seen in the look that betrayed his mask like expression as he raised his wand. Scorpius didn't want to do this. He cringed away from his own wand.

"Wait," hissed Zabini, stepping forward. "I'll do it."

"Pardon?"

"I'll do it. And you don't need to bloody murder the thing to get a phial of blood. Let me do it," he insisted, extracting his own wand. "I'm already cursed. Why would it matter if I get another curse thrown on top?"

"You don't have to—"

"Restrain the bigger one. I reckon she'll kick up a fight."

And before Scorpius could begin arguing, he aimed his wand at the smaller unicorn and sent an Incarcerous Spell to bind it. It woke immediately, terrified, whinnying as it strained against its ropes. It was a terrible sound, splitting the air the way lightening shocks darkness.

Without a choice now, Scorpius and Toby narrowed in on the larger unicorn that had reared up in fury. They used a simultaneous Full Body-Bind curse to freeze it to the spot. It became rigid, its eyes wild and rolling, its muscular legs and neck pulsing with veins. It was frozen in its terror. Zabini had already ducked in to kneel by the smaller of the two creatures, leaning down with his wand to knick it across its shoulder. He held the phial to the cut as the unicorn continued to strain, its eyes rolling in fear. But the cut was small. It would heal. The silvery blood trickled into the small bottle. And for a moment, Scorpius felt a huge surge of relief.

The terror of these poor creatures was enough to make his heart spasm. He couldn't believe that for a moment he truly considered killing one.

He couldn't believe that it was Zabini who had shown greater sense and empathy. He shook himself slightly, wondering what exactly was running through his head. He was not as in control of the Dark Arts as he thought.

"That's alright, isn't it?" Zabini said, so casually, holding up the phial of thick silver blood.

It would have to be enough. Scorpius couldn't bear seeing the unicorn bound up in pain and fear.

"Yes. Yes, I have everything I need. Let them both go. It is time to go back to bed."

* * *

 **A/N:** **A happy new year to you all. I hope you had a safe, holy and happy Christmas and are settling into 2019.** **This has been one of my favourite chapters to write for a long while now. I hope you enjoy it too. Xx**


	8. Chapter Seven

**— CHAPTER SEVEN —**

Miranda Abercrombie had a boyfriend pick her up once she had clocked off at the Department Store and was likely to spend the night as his apartment. She had phoned her daughter to let her know, encouraging her to order Chinese and invite some friends over. Imogen didn't invite friends over (what friends? she wanted to bitterly reply) but did order Chinese and had promptly fallen asleep in front of the flickering television set without having removed her herbal facemask. A take-away container of cold chow mein teetered on her lap as she slept, moving gently with each exhalation.

At about three in the morning, there was a knock on her door. She didn't wake at first but the second knock—more of a bang—caused her to start. The take-away container tumbled to the floor and cold fried noodles slid onto the carpet. The face of her mother's Hello Kitty clock sitting on the side-table blinked the hour back at her. She grabbed her wand and turned towards the door, heart pounding. Perhaps it was her mother, deciding she wanted to come home after all. Maybe she had broken up with the boyfriend and was returning tipsy and teary at the small hours of the morning. Imogen seemed to always be the one acting like the parent, the one who checked and double-checked that the stove was off and the door bolted.

She froze as she watched the key turn in the lock of its own accord. It swung open.

For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. Albus Potter was standing in the doorway, shoving his wand back into his pocket. In his left hand—and she had to blink hard to make sure she wasn't imagining this—he was holding the Sword of Gryffindor. He looked at her for a second before asking, without any greeting, "What's on your face?"

She touched the cracked honey mask on her face and then lowered her hand. "Why are you in my apartment?"

"It's a long story. Can we come in?"

He had already crossed the threshold. Behind him, Rose Weasley stood with one leg heavily bandaged and an arm draped around Scorpius Malfoy's shoulders. They both looked worse for wear—beside her injured leg, Rose seemed damp, as if she had been caught in the rain, and Scorpius was uncharacteristically filthy.

"Er, I suppose it's too late to say no. There's left over Chinese food in the fridge. Give me a moment, will you?"

She locked the door and briskly went to her bathroom, where she scrubbed off the mask and assessed herself in the mirror. The pink bathtub and daisy shower curtains behind her were so painfully Muggle that she couldn't quite fathom that fellow wizards and witches were sitting in her living room. It had seemed like forever since she had had any contact with the magical world. She tied her long, ash blonde hair into a bun and joined them in the sitting room.

Rose had stretched herself out on the sofa, unwinding the bandages on her leg. Underneath was fresh, pink skin. She touched it gingerly. Scorpius was cleaning up the noodles that had fallen onto the carpet and Albus was carefully placing the Sword of Gryffindor on the coffee table. She realised with a start that his right hand was completely covered in cracked blood, as if he were wearing a gruesome glove.

"Let me look at that," she said, siting down beside him.

"It's fine," he replied, taking out his wand again and switching it to his left hand. "I can heal it myself."

"Do you still have your school Cauldron?" Scorpius asked.

Imogen stared at them all. She nodded slowly, pointing to a linen cupboard in the hall where she had stored all her school things. She hadn't looked at it since the day she had returned home from the end of sixth-year.

"Would you mind explaining what's happened?" she asked, annoyed that she even had to.

Rose sighed heavily, brushing her short hair from her face. It was definitely much shorter than Imogen remembered it. She looked very different, very drawn but strong, her eyes bright and hard as marbles. The last time Imogen had seen her, she had been a mess. She plonked her foot onto the floor and shared a look with the boys.

"Where do we begin?"

* * *

Some several hours earlier, just before midnight, five wizards and witches materialised with a pop into the long swaying grass at the base of Mount Bowfell. It was a moonless night, making the mountain more menacing in its black silhouette. Five wands burst with beams of gold light. A fox froze, sat still watching them, and then darted away.

Harry extracted a phial from his pocket. A small phial, with only a few drops of scarlet blood at the very bottom, voluntarily given by Orlick.

They moved forward, finding the rock that hid the entrance to the mountain's tunnel. Harry kneeled down, unstoppering the phial and dripping the blood onto the rock. It moved down into the earth, opening up the tunnel.

Charlie, Ginny, Ron and Hermione stood behind Harry, peering into the circular tunnel. It was empty. It was too easy.

* * *

It was around the same time that a wizard and witch arrived in Romania to find it utterly unchanged. Fields of tall grass swayed like the ocean's waves in the breeze. With the time difference factored in, it was almost two in the morning. Everything was shut up tight. Stray cats were curled up around rubbish bins. Teddy and Victoire were surprised by how far removed everything was from all that had happened on the steps of Gringotts.

Stars were already twinkling. There was no moon.

The Sanctuary was less sleepy than the town. They arrived to find Krishna and Adam rushing to meet them at the front archway, their feet kicking up dust as they ran.

"What happened?" Krishna called, skidding to a halt before them. "Rolf arrived a couple hours ago and is being very cryptic!"

"Rolf?" Victoire frowned.

"Scamander," Adam supplied, having also arrived as the second member of their welcoming party. "I'd hardly call him cryptic, Krish. He's just too distracted by the dragons to talk to us."

"The Order sent him ahead," Krishna explained, seeing Victoire's quizzical look. "Thought we'd need the extra hands without Charlie."

Charlie was the expert at culling dragons, something that even Rolf Scamander would not be equipped to do. While Rolf was a magizoologist and Luna a naturalist, both were in the field of studying and protecting beasts, not killing them. Luna and Rolf always seemed to travel in a pair, inseparable in their work. It was odd to hear that Rolf had arrived alone this time.

As they entered the grounds, walking through the dragon enclosures, they explained that Hogsmeade had been won back, that Gringotts had also fallen to the Order. They were getting quite animated in their recount, Teddy going through the experience blow by blow, morphing his face to look like each person in their re-enactment as he explained their journey into the deep bowls of the Wizarding Bank.

"Oh, they are back," Sylvia called, joining them. Teddy quickly returned his features so that he no longer resembled Hermione Granger. Sylvia was lighting the sanctuary's lanterns, her wand aloft. "Just in time," she added, giving them both a simultaneous hug.

"In time for what?" Victoire frowned.

"Selima's been alright?" Teddy asked over them, directing the question to Adam.

"She's been doing better," he said. "She's been helping out around the grounds. Looking after the goats and chickens."

"In time for what?" Victoire asked loudly.

Sylvia extinguished her wand.

"The goblin and your visitor are dressing our Opaleye in the armour he made."

"He's _what_?"

Victoire began her march towards their newest enclosure. Teddy sighed and the rest of the handlers followed her, struggling to keep up. Sylvia returned to lighting the Sanctuary lanterns with small balls of blue fire.

"He's been missing you," Krishna added, trying to placate her friend. "Whining a lot. I think Jem noticed you haven't been around with any goat liver treats."

But Victoire was bristling like a dragon herself. She came to a halt in front of the enclosure, where Dragomir, Venn and Rolf were all standing, the goblin securing the last of the armour to the dragon's belly.

"What is going on here?" she demanded.

The three turned. Rolf beamed in that brash way of his, completely missing the tone of Victoire's question. He gestured at the tame Opaleye pleasantly.

"What a beauty he is! I was so pleased to see how well fitted this armour is. Quite incredible, really."

"Charlie didn't ask you to come here to play dress ups," Victoire snapped. She ducked under the enclosure, moving over to Jem and pressing her palm to the little hide that was visible beneath the rippling chainmail. "I _knew_ sending a Scamander here was a bad idea."

"Since when did you say it was a bad idea?" Teddy frowned.

"Oh, he's quite comfortable, Victoire. No need to get your wand in a knot," Rolf reassured her amicably.

But she was rounding on them now, having given up trying to get the large metal breastplate off of the dragon. She had that made look in her eyes, trembling with fury and nostrils flared. Jem looked positively harmless beside her.

"It was a mistake bringing him here too," she raged, pointing at Venn who started back in surprise. "He been a right royal pain from the very start. And I can't believe you two have been encouraging this—" she turned to Dragomir and Rolf. "—when you should both know better!"

"Alright," Teddy stepped between them, adopting the stern expression he only seemed to wear on exceptional occasions, like when he used to babysit the Potter children. He was already placing his hand on Venn's shoulder, guiding him out of the enclosure. "I'll have a word to Venn. I think it is best if Victoire makes sure everything is ready for us in Charlie's cabin. Leave this to me."

* * *

When Scorpius left the boys in their dormitory and crept to the communal boys' lavatory, he almost started in surprise to see Rose leaning—arms crossed—by the kitchen sink. She was calm now, her face set in an odd sort of way that made him think she had practiced the expression minutes before in the mirror. Scorpius slid the sack in his hands cautiously to the floor and paused.

"Would you mind sharing where you were?" she asked quietly.

He could see his reflection in the looking glass over the sinks—his silver hair was slick with sweat and flecked with small twigs, dirt and leaves. He had torn the bottom of his robes and his hands were covered in mud, even under his fingernails.

"Burying that bone," he said, moving to the entrance into the Chamber of Secrets. Rose watched him, her arms crossed and her face still set in that practiced patient expression. As he leaned down to hiss the password, Rose picked up his sack and swung it over her shoulder.

He climbed carefully down the ladder, lighting the fire beneath the cauldron as soon as his feet touched the damp stone floor. Rose was descending also, the sack dangling precariously from one hand. She jumped the last few rungs and landed loudly on her feet.

He extracted a few of Bellucci's failed stones. The rest of the potion ingredients were inside the bag. The silvery unicorn blood. The silken web taken from the Acromantula egg sac. A human tooth. Everything else he had on hand.

"You should go and run a few raids on the girls," he suggested, wondering if that would be enough to ensure his solitude.

But Rose shook her head. "I already did, while you and the boys were missing. They're all exhausted and in bed."

They stared at each other a moment longer in the low, flickering light of the fire. Rose took a few steps towards him and held out the small, canvas sack of ingredients. He hesitated, then reached out to take it, but Rose didn't release her grip right away.

"Thank you," she said, her face very serious. "For taking charge."

"I thought you deserved a break," he replied dryly. She released her grip and took a step back. The sound echoed through the chamber.

She was bristling to interrogate him, to probe him with questions about where he had been and what he had done and what he was planning to do. Yet, by some miracle of self-control, Rose did not say a word. She watched as Scorpius began divvying up his ingredients, measuring them against his thumb or forefinger. Then, she kneeled down beside him and took one of the Stone mockeries from the sack and turned it over in the light. It glistened and sparkled ruby red.

With her free hand, she reached forward and gently touched his hand. There was no longer urgency to her touch, but instead it was soft and telling. She trailed her fingertips over his palm and into the birdcage of his closed fingers, where he held the phial of unicorn blood—innocuously small and silver, tucked away like a secret.

"Scorpius," she said quietly, but then faltered. She froze, her ears pricked like a canine. He looked up too, his silver eyes glinting, and took his hand away to halt her with a simple gesture. They both paused, listening intently, for what had sounded like the echoing ghost of laughter.

* * *

Orlick smiled at the two brothers, the diamond reflecting refracted shards of light across his face. The underground chamber was cool and empty, their words carrying up to the high ceilings.

"I wanted to ask you about the Sword of Gryffindor," Albus said, nervously knotting his hands together. James was fidgeting beside him, and he found it distracting.

"What in particular would you like to know?" Orlick prompted kindly.

"Why is Romnuk so obsessed with the Sword?"

Orlick's smile no longer reached his eyes. He removed his glasses and folded them carefully, placing them beside the tools on his worktable.

"Did you know that the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries began because the goblins wished to retrieve the Sword?"

Albus paused, trying in vain to recall anything Professor Binns had ever said on the subject and failing miserably. He shrugged non-committedly and felt that James gave a similar shake of the head.

"Revenge can be a dangerous thing," Orlick said sadly. "It has destroyed my kind."

"But it's the Kobold Könige who want the sword, not the Goblin King."

"In Goblin culture, the Crown is awarded to the greatest silversmith, and that is decided by a contest of who can produce the greatest weapon. I am sure, with the significance attached to that particular Sword, Romnuk is certain that he can use it to usurp his brother."

"His brother?" James asked, frowning.

"The current Goblin King. Romnuk the Rough is his younger brother."

Albus already knew this from their Order meetings. He was still thinking it over, trying to make sense of it.

"You see, the current King is no metalsmith," Orlick explained patiently. "He struck a deal with his brother. He would take the crown and rule the Kingdom. His brother could take the hammer his sister made and rule over the military. But that arrangement did not last for long, you see. The Sword of Ragnuk the First is the greatest weapon ever made. Romnuk believes that with it, he can usurp the throne and win the kingdom's approval."

"But he'll never get his hands on the Sword," James said, adamant.

Orlick frowned slightly. "We shall see."

* * *

It was now properly dark, forcing Teddy to ignite his wand as he pulled Venn into the storage barn. He sent a jet of flames into the fire pit to give them some light, and noticed that all of the equipment, tools and even metal candelabras handing from the ceiling has been stripped and melted down. The barn was almost completely bare. It seemed everything had been recycled to make the dragon armour. It was completely baffling.

 _"Venn,"_ Teddy said, much more calm than the interrogation that had taken place in the dragon's pen. He turned to face the goblin, gesturing at the empty walls. _"Can you explain why you are doing this?"_

 _"I must repay you,"_ Venn replied in his simple way. He smiled broadly at Teddy, the tattoos along his forehead creasing. " _Welcome back! My rescuer."_

Teddy had to stop himself from smiling. This was someone in the goblin King's inner circle. Surely there was a reason he was creating armour, exposing the secrets of his kind's knowledge on wizarding territory.

" _Can you explain why you want to arm our dragons?_ "

Venn frowned at Teddy as if he were dense. He took hold of Teddy's arm, gripping it tightly.

" _I told you! The dragons are weapons._ _The King has dragons, but so do the Kobold Könige."_

 _"So they will fight each other?"_

Teddy was piecing together everything he had learned in the last few days. The KoboldKönige wanted the Sword of Gryffindor, which is why they were trying to break into Hogwarts. The Goblin King wanted a Philosopher's Stone, which may have been why he partnered with the Wizard Government in the first place.

But Venn's frustration was growing even still.

 _"The Kobold Könige will use the dragons to fight the wizards, until they get what they need."_

Teddy could feel the colour draining from his face. He hadn't realised that the Kobold Könige still had dragons in their arsenal. If this was were the security measures for Base Bowfell, Charlie and the Order would be toast—literally.

One dragon, Charlie could handle on his own. But if it was a whole flight of dragons…

* * *

Base Bowfell was eerily silent. They encountered nobody in the thirty minutes it took to enter and search the tunnels leading to Romnuk's chambers. There were no goblins, no beasts, no booby-traps.

The silence was unsettling.

They moved in a tight group, eyes scanning all the crevices of the dark mountain. Still, nothing.

The deeper they went, the more Harry was convinced it was a trap.

"Let's go back," he said, deciding to trust his instincts. He broke into a run. "They're not here!"

* * *

The quiet drip of water and the crunch of vermin bones under his feet were punctuated by an echoing bark of laughter or the sound of clashing metal. It had half crossed Scorpius' mind that it was merely the Bloody Baron descending below the dungeons, performing his usual doleful wailing to frighten the Slytherins—but the Baron only moaned, never laughed, and somehow this laughter was more unnerving.

The mirror in Scorpius' pocket kept heating up against his leg. Rose was with him, so it must have been Albus. But whatever he had to say would have to wait.

He hit the end of the passage and came upon a circular grate, snakes decorating the metal bars, and had to pause to allow his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing in the chamber that the pipe ended in.

Soaring stone pillars intertwined with serpents sped up into the high ceiling. The half-flooded chamber was filled with an enormous snake skeleton; a giant skull and endless vertebrae twisted like a comb. And there, in the middle of the Chamber, was Romnuk the Rough with his mallet in hand.

This had all happened in a matter of seconds but it felt like time had somehow dragged to a halt. Scorpius almost felt faint. They were in the school. They must have found access through the school's plumbing. They had avoided digging through the enchantments Professor Longbottom had placed on the school's soil. There were at least twelve goblins, assembling their armour. Romnuk's gnarled fingers curled around the mallet. Scorpius' head was still turning when he felt Rose catch up behind him, leaning over his shoulder, the loud gasp that escaped her mouth.

Maybe it was her gasp, or maybe it was just their presence hovering—for they had only been at the grate for a few seconds—but all twelve goblins turned sharply toward them. Romnuk's mallet glinted. With a vicious snarl, he began to run towards them, the greenish water splashing beneath his boots.

Rose extracted her wand but Scorpius had already turned, pushing her back the way they had come.

"Run!" he barked, shoving her as hard as he could. There was no room to fight inside the narrow pipe and no spell would penetrate the goblin armour. They had to get out of the plumbing as quickly as possible. They had become fish in a barrel. Without anywhere to move but the way that Scorpius was shoving her, Rose turned and pelted her way back towards the entrance chamber below the boys' lavatories.

The metal grate would hardly slow their assailants down, but if they sealed the stone exit with Parseltongue, it would delay the goblins from following them. He could still feel the mirror burning against his leg. They needed to get the school evacuated. They needed to get word to the Headmaster.

They sealed the hidden entrance with the stone latrine and then stood for a moment, panting hard.

"Get all the students out of their beds," Scorpius said.

Rose didn't wait to confer. She was already sprinting out of the bathroom, the sack of ingredients he had procured over her shoulder. Scorpius pulled the mirror from his pocket, swiping it with trembling fingers.

"Finally!" Albus cried, his face contorted. "Orlick betrayed us—he's told the Kobold Könige how to get into the Castle!"

"They're already in the Castle," Scorpius said. His voice was steady, empty. His body was exhausted from everything that had already happened throughout the night. "You need to tell Professor Longbottom right now. They're in the pipes."

Albus was still processing the news that the goblins were in the castle. His face was bleached of colour, his eyes wide. He shook his head, mouthing soundlessly.

"Albus," Scorpius urged, "go now—go tell Professor Longbottom!"

"I-I'm already at his office," Albus shouted, his green eyes wild. "He isn't _here_. When you didn't answer I went to get him."

"He's not here?"

Scorpius was beginning to feel the panic dancing up his joints, making its way into his brain. He tried to keep it encumbered with a numb detachment but he was aware that they were running out of time. He could hear the sound of metal striking from behind the stone latrine. The goblins were experts at navigating underground—they would break into the Dungeons soon. Scorpius and Rose had inadvertently shown them the easiest way in.

He fled the bathroom, moving swiftly down the stone corridors, double-checking that the boys were already out of their beds. Not one was in sight.

"They're going to head for Gryffindor Common Room," Albus said, now just a blur in Scorpius' palm. "I have to go."

The mirror cooled and turned to regular glass. Scorpius shoved it into his pocket, dashing up the stairs that led to the common room. They were all assembled, a small army, boys and girls, men and women. Rose stood in front of them all, her face unusually stricken.

Scorpius felt his guts twist. They couldn't make them fight. Some of them were only thirteen.

"Go," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll stay."

"No," Rose said, completely steady. "You're a hopeless dueller. I'll stay."

"No," Scorpius insisted, his obstinacy rearing. "You can't stay alone."

She had seen Romnuk. Rose was preparing to kill him. He could tell by the blaze in her eyes. She was a spectral presence in the dancing green light of the lanterns, almost terrifyingly calm. She wasn't going to budge, but after what had occurred in the forest, he was too frightened to leave her. Who would pull her back when she plunged in the deep dark of her soul? Who would stop her from drowning in it?

"Merlin," Alice shouted, throwing her arms in the air. " _We'll all stay!_ Isn't that what we've been training for?"

Scorpius and Rose shared a look. Having seen the goblins in their armour and with their weapons, they did not want the Slytherin underlings fighting them—not when they had taken an Unbreakable Vow to do everything possible to protect them. They would need to take them somewhere safe, Scorpius was reasoning, probably to the Tree. The Centaurs would give them sanctuary if they knew goblins were on the grounds. But only their little trio knew the path, Rose was frowning back. Either Scorpius or Rose would have to lead them there if they were ever to find it in the pitch black of night. Rose should stay, he should go.

"We want to fight," Gloria Fink said, crossing her arms. "I thought that's what you were training us for."

This snapped them out of their silent conversation, shared only with scowls and furrowed brows. Rose turned sharply to something she heard coming from the stairwell leading to the dormitories. She readied her wand.

" _Go_ ," she insisted, looking at Scorpius. "I already have a plan."

He had to trust her, despite everything, because she was unstoppable. She was tipping her wand to her throat, drawing breath, then creating a perfectly round Bubble-Head Charm. He turned and ushered the students towards the stone exit, hurrying them out of the Common Room. Professor Longbottom must be somewhere, he reasoned. As soon as the students were out of the Dungeons, he would contact Albus on the mirror once more, tell him to pull himself together and suggest that he find Longbottom on that very clever map of his so that they could get the rest of the school evacuated.

It was the Slytherins who were in the greatest immediate danger, down in the Dungeons, where the goblins would emerge. The others still had time. He would take care of them first.

Rose would be fine, he reassured himself. His reassurances weren't worth much.

They tore their way out of the Dunegons, the air no longer impeded by the thick stones and windowless corridors. The moment they had climbed to the top of the stairs, they knew something was instantly wrong.

Through the windows, despite the darkness of the hour, they could see a burning red light. And from behind the trembling glass, they could hear roars that shook the marrow of their bones.

No, Scorpius reasoned, they weren't the only ones in immediate danger.

* * *

Professor Longbottom was not in his office (Albus had checked), nor were any of the teachers in their offices, bedrooms or even in the staffroom. With the news that goblins were already in the school, Albus returned at a sprint to Gryffindor Tower. Speaking to Scorpius had restored his head. It only occurred to him after he had put his mirror away that he could search the Marauders Map to find the missing teachers.

But there was no need to search the Map at all. As he fell through the portrait hole into the circular Common Room, he could see a blazing red light burning through the windows. All of the Gryffindors were up, pressed against the glass and screaming out in shrill voices. Albus ran forward, grabbing Hugo by the shoulders.

"Dragons!" he said, pointing out the window. And sure enough, an enormous creature (bigger than anything Albus had ever seen) cast a shadow across the entire tower. He felt his heart leap into his throat.

Orlick has betrayed them. It still throbbed in his head, aching. They had all been so convinced that he was on their side. But Orlick had explained in an affable, apologetic voice—the Kobold Könige were their only hope in bringing down the tyrant King. He hated them, but they were the only alternative left.

"I cannot live like this anymore," Orlick had said, imploringly, looking into the two Potter boys' faces. "I cannot live above ground like a wand bearer. I live in exile. I made a choice—in the interest of my own Kingdom."

He leaned against the windows along with the others. The inferno outside was heating the glass so much it was like pressing his face against an oven door. There were more dragons than they could count, armoured, glistening like molten silver—twisting and turning in the air. While he did not have the best vantage point, what little of Hogsmeade he could see was blazing in an apocalyptic wave of red.

"They're coming for the Sword," he said. "We have to protect it."

* * *

The stone passage slammed shut behind Scorpius and Rose backed towards it, her wand sealing the Bubble Head Charm around her neck. Boots clashed up the stairwell. She could feel her blood pounding through every artery, throbbing in the fingers that clutched her wand. She had seen Romnuk down in the school's bowels. Their eyes had locked. He had recognised her. She would finally kill him, or die trying.

Then, he was there in front of her. Fully armoured. His visor up so she could still see the mangled grin that twisted his face. Mallet in hand. The very same that had broken Meredith's legs. Other goblins tumbled in after him, but she only had eyes for Romnuk.

She aimed her wand at the Common Room's large glass windows and yelled, " _Bombarda Maxima_!"

The force of the explosion took them all off their feet, but it was nothing compared to the ferocity of the water that shattered through the glass. It hit them like a wall of cold cement. Rose was prepared, creating a Shield Charm around her that stopped the furniture from crushing her. The goblins were completely taken by surprise.

Drowning was not the ideal way to kill him, she knew. She wanted to hurt him. But she had to be practical.

The water was gushing in as quickly as it was rushing down the stairs leading into the lower dormitories. Some goblins had managed to resurface. Rose duck-dived down, lighting her wand so she could see beneath the black. Goblins were trapped beneath upturned chesterfield sofas or tables. She spotted Romnuk by the flash of his mallet. He was beating it through the debris to get to her, or perhaps towards the door. He floundered, his armour dragging him down. She aimed her wand at him and used the Impediment Jinx to slow him down further. The longer she could keep him beneath the water, the better. His armour was heavy. It was already tiring him out.

She felt something seize her leg and yank her down. She yelped, the sound muted in her Bubble Head Charm, and aimed her wand at whatever was pulling her away from the door. A goblin had grasped her leg, his face purpling beneath his helmet, choking on the water. She tried to pull her leg free, kicking in slow motion, but with a sudden searing pain she couldn't move it at all. Blood was clouding the water visible around her wand before disappearing into the darkness. The pain in her leg was so intense she wondered if it has been sliced clean.

She pointed her wand at a waterlogged sofa nearby and summoned it towards the goblin where it pinned him. He would surely drown, never to resurface, but he had done enough damage.

There was no time to recover—Romnuk was upon her, his head now breaking the surface to catch breath. He had taken off his helmet and unclasped his armour so he was no longer weighed down. This would have made him the perfect target if Rose's leg wasn't preventing her from swimming. She needed to get out of the shipwrecked Common Room.

With a blast from her wand, she propelled herself towards the door. She clung to it now, the lake lapping up against the walls. Waterlogged books and chest pieces floated by as she undid her Bubble-Head Charm and choked out the password.

The stone passage opened. She was thrust out of the common room as if vomited out of the mouth of some antediluvian beast. Salt water was burning her throat and eyes and the gash on her leg. She clawed her way further down the corridor, her arms trembling as she did.

The passage was about to close when a metal hammer wedged itself between the stones. Rose looked up, immobile from the shock. Water continued to gush through the gap, pooling around her. Then, Romnuk pulled himself into the corridor.

He should have _drowned_. She was supposed to keep him there until he drowned.

He was only in his chainmail now and his weapon was keeping the passageway open, no doubt so the goblins that were not trapped could escape after him. He was defenceless, but Rose couldn't move. Her leg was throbbing and her head was filled with a low buzzing sound, like hornets had nested in her ears.

Romnuk seemed to be struggling from the shock as well. He wheezed, coughing up water.

"That's not very pretty," he finally grunted, nodding to her leg. She hadn't looked down at it yet. She was too afraid to. She finally mustered up the courage to spare a glance. It was a short but deep gash. Her skin yawned open on either side, like the smiling mouth of a stingray.

She tapped her wand to her leg and through shaky tears—this was not the time to cry, she reminded herself—and murmured " _Ferula_." Bandages sprung up around her leg, wrapping it tightly. She didn't know enough Healing Magic to do anything more. Water still gushed out of the gap in the passage door, pooling around her.

She wanted to lunge at him. He was sadistic. He was a murderer. He was everything she hated and feared, and she was at his mercy. Only ten feet away from him.

She could hear someone running down the corridor towards them, feet splashing against the wet stone. Hands clasped her tightly and pulled her up. The pain in her leg made her feel faint. She still raised her wand at Romnuk, wobbling against Scorpius' lean frame.

"I have him," she said, her voice almost guttural.

Another goblin was clambering through the stone passage, choking up water. He turned back to grasp the arms of another, pulling them through.

Romnuk smiled slowly. Rose couldn't form the words. She had him but she couldn't make her lips move.

"There's no _time_ ," Scorpius bellowed. He got in front of her, wrapping her arms around his neck and grabbing her legs. She shouldn't have looked at her leg. If she hadn't seen the gash the pain wouldn't have been so real. Now, all she could fathom was her screaming nerves. Scorpius was sprinting up the hall, away from the washed up gang. She twisted back to look at them. Other goblins were falling out into the corridor. How many had survived? Had it all been for nothing?

She sobbed into Scorpius' shoulder as he piggybacked her like a child. She hadn't been able to do it. She had failed, she had _failed._

"Stop it," he said, his voice hard. "Stop it. You're going to be perfectly alright. We have bigger problems."

They sprinted into the Entrance Hall but didn't head towards the doors. Instead, Scorpius was moving towards the staircase. A burst of bright red light lit up the entire chamber. Something else was happening.

He was getting tired, she realised. He was slowing down on the stairs.

"They're not in the forest?" she choked out. Something was wrong.

"Everything's on fire," he panted. "They've unleashed dragons. All the teachers are out there trying to stop them."

Living, breathing killing machines. There was no way to kill a flock of armoured dragons.

"We need to get to the forest. We can Apparate if we get out of the school's boundaries—"

"No," Scorpius said, between breaths. "No. The forest is on fire too. Everything is burning."

It had been the perfect ambush. The most seasoned members of the Order were locked in an empty mountain. Weapons of utter destruction, beasts armed and released were ravaging the Castle. Meanwhile, the goblins had found their way into the Castle. Had Rose and Scorpius not been there by chance, they would have entered Hogwarts unknown to anyone. There had only been twelve members of the Kobold Könige left, but they knew how to destroy everything.

Scorpius paused at the top of the stairs, sliding Rose off his back. She gripped the banister to support herself. There was no way they could make it all the way to Gryffindor Tower in their condition, not with so many flights of stairs. Just as she was beginning to panic again, she saw her younger brother tearing down towards them. His brown curls bounced with each step.

"Is she alright?" he bellowed.

"I can't carry her alone."

"You're a _wizard,_ Malfoy! _"_ Hugo shouted, extracting his wand and pointing it at her sister. She felt herself become weightless, floating several inches off the ground.

They made it to the Gryffindor Common Room in record timing. The Fat Lady gave a squawk of fear as she let them in, clearly mortified by Rose's injured state and thriving on the drama of it. Once they had carefully got her through the portrait hole, Rose surveyed the room properly for the first time.

Albus was standing by the table in the centre of the room, the Marauder's Map unfurled—clearly it was no longer a secret to scheme. He was bending over it, trailing his finger across the map. The older students were gathered around him, analysing the parchment laid out before them.

It wasn't just the Gryffindors. _All_ of the remaining students were in the tower. The Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws. The young ones were perched near the windows, staring down with wide-eyes.

"Oh, good," Caleb Macmillan sighed, clutching his chest where his ridiculous Head Boy badged was pinned. He moved away from Albus and his Map. "We're all accounted for."

"Your leg," Lily gasped.

Sure enough, the bandages had turned as deep a red as the ruby on Gryffindor's sword. Albus moved over to the sofa, throwing the pillows off and helping Rose recline. He began to unravel her bandages.

"Mary," he said, gesturing at a bookcase across the room, "can you bring me _A Healer's Handbook_. The purple book with gold text? I want to make sure I don't leave a scar."

She and Scorpius had been so intent on learning how to defend themselves that they had never bothered with Healing Magic. He wrapped her in a blanket and began to clean her wound. He was focused and calm, eyebrows pinched with concentration, not at all uneasy with the gash on her leg. Her own shock was beginning to retreat now. She was aware of how wet she was, that she was shivering under the blanket around her shoulders.

Rose was keenly aware of how many young faces were staring at her.

"Why are you all in here?" she demanded. "The goblins are trying to get _into_ Gryffindor Tower! They want the sword."

"That's exactly why we're here," a Slytherin fifth-year piped up. "This is where we're needed most."

"We stayed to defend our school," Angus Finnigan said, rather boldly.

"We tried to talk them out of it," Caleb frowned. "They insisted."

Albus was instructing Mary to turn pages. His wand was hovering over the gash in her leg, no squirming in his expression. He began an incantation that almost sounded like song.

Suddenly, she was convinced that she would still have her chance to avenge Meredith—they just had to think smart.

"Alright," she said, looking around at all the faces staring back. Professor Longbottom was busy putting out fires. The goblins were left completely to them. "We have the high grounds. Lets make a game plan."

"Already ahead of you," Scorpius replied.

* * *

The message relayed was one of panic. Seven dragons had been unleashed onto Hogsmeade in the dead of night, completely armoured and indomitable. Hagrid was evacuating survivors into boats on the black lake, sailing them across to the school's boatsheds. Charred bodies remained in charred houses. But even greater panic returned through Neville's locket when Harry replied—Mount Bowfell was completely empty (and worse) all exists had sealed after they had entered. They couldn't get out and there were no goblins in sight.

They had been ambushed. They had been betrayed.

The dragons were the priority they decided. Charlie took the locket from Harry and spoke with authority. They needed to call on his cullers from the Sanctuary. They needed to kill as many of the dragons as they could. The only way to wrangle this many dragons was to fight fire with fire.

There was no time to get to the Romanian Ministry of Magic and organise an international Portkey. It would take them hours, especially when it was so late at night. Charlie gave him the name and address of an old hag who would organise an illegal Portkey. Get in touch with Rolf and get them to Hogwarts, he said, so Neville did.

* * *

They were all still trying to process what Teddy had told them when Sylvia joined them with news from Hogsmeade. The pieces had fall horribly into place. There were a few beats of silence where the only sound was the snorts and snores of the dragons.

"We go, we cull," Dragomir decided, shrugging. "We leave now."

"But maybe Venn is right," Teddy said quickly. "Maybe we _do_ need a dragon. Have any of you taken on seven dragons at once?"

Victoire swallowed hard. She turned to Rolf Scamander and tried to summon a look of amicability, as if she hadn't been fuming at him only minutes before. "Have you got that handy suitcase on you at the moment, Rolf?"

He blinked twice and then nodded, gesturing back towards the barn. "I do, actually, funny that you ask."

* * *

The Kobold Könige had a plan. They did not think it would be this hard. From the twelve that had first entered the Castle, only seven remained. The dungeons were rapidly flooding so there was no opportunity to turn back from armour. From Orlick's instructions, all they knew is that they had to move onwards and upwards.

The bargain that Romnuk had struck with Orlick—let the record show that he despised the traitor, the disgusting Morgana supporter—was that he would not hurt anyone in Hogwarts in his pursuit for the Sword. Considering the information he was going to be given, it was worth making this oath. Of course, Orlick had said nothing about hurting anyone _outside_ of Hogwarts. The village of Hogsmeade was fair game and it would soon be burned to ashes. It was the perfect distraction.

Things had not gone completely to plan. They had never truly learned how to use their wands and the weapons didn't really seem to work for them. Sometimes, they functioned as they should, and in other instances they seemed to backfire. It didn't matter—Romnuk had decided he hated being among the ranks of the wandbearers. As for killing all wizards and witches in authority, this too had fallen short. They had killed both the current and former Ministers for Magic, this was true, but Harry Potter remained. Still, Romnuk had decided to prioritise the Sword above his wishes to see the Wizarding World burn. They had done enough damage. It was now time to return home and take the throne.

Even now, the plan was going amiss. They were supposed to sneak into the school unnoticed while the teachers attempted to restrain the dragons and the Order of the Phoenix was trapped in Mount Bowfell. It was supposed to be simple and easy. He was not supposed to have lost five of his followers, all because of that stupid, meddling girl.

Rose Weasley had been a thorn in his side from the moment they laid eyes on each other. She was unlike the others. He could not break her. She had disrupted their siege, she had stolen their armour and weapons, she had made his purpose very difficult. She and the other Potter children were more trouble than their parents.

This seemed to even be the case now, when things ought to be going smoothly. The staircases up to Gryffindor Tower had turned to slides, impossible to climb. There was no choice but to climb the banisters dangerously, made all the more difficult by the constant shifting of the staircases. As the first couple of goblins had made it up the first flight a hailstorm of spells rained down on them. With so little armour, they were forced to duck for cover. Romnuk squinted upwards. He could see them—students, young witches and wizards—on the higher floors with their wands poised from the landings above. His head was throbbing.

"Get up there and get their wands off them!" he didn't care if they killed anyone anymore. But it was already looking impossible to get up the stairwells. He retreated backwards towards the Entrance Hall. He was refusing to leave without the Sword.

* * *

For the Hogsmeade residents who had escaped the burning debris of their village—and they were few in number—they watched from the Hogwarts' boatsheds as cinders spun in the air like swarms of fireflies. Dragons swooped and burned everything in sight. The Order members were hardly able to contain the spreading flames, let alone the apoplectic dragons.

The entire scene was nightmarishly phantasmagorical. Soon, several dragons swooped over the forest connecting the border of the village to the school grounds. Cinders were finding destructive homes among the treetops. The Forbidden Forest was beginning to blaze. They saw this only from the corners of their red-rimmed eyes. Their attention was turned to the wounded.

Seven more figures appear by the village's boundaries all in fire protective gear. A dragon clambered from an oddly disproportionately sized suitcase, flanked in armour, a woman with silvery hair on its back. From a distance, the Hogsmeade survivors did not see any of this. They were busy tending to those with the worst burns to notice this very strange sight.

However, the Order was quick to spot the dragon handlers and Apparate over to them.

Victoire was fastening her boots into the stirrups of her harness. Jem the Antipodean Opaleye was gazing upward with glittering eyes, mesmerised, by the fountains of fire being emitted by the wild beasts above. Neville and Luna reached them with the Hogwarts' herd of thestrals trailing behind them.

"Oh dear," Luna frowned. Her face was covered in soot, making her pale blue eyes seem even wider. "Is bringing another dragon into this situation really the best idea?"

"Victoire seems to have a good relationship with this dragon, dear," Rolf replied, taking the thestrals and helping the handlers who could not see them mount them.

"I'm not sure if killing the dragons is the best way to proceed," Luna pleaded.

Both Krishna and Adam began muttering under their breath. Sylvia and Dragomir pretended they could not hear Luna's opposition.

Teddy turned to Luna and Rolf, looking pained at the prospect of killing the dragons as well. "Isn't there a way to capture them without harming them?"

"They've been trained as killing machines," Victoire snapped. "This isn't time for a humanitarian take, Teddy. They're all in armour. We have to aim to kill them."

"We have never culled dragons wearing armour before," Adam added. "This'll be hard as it is."

The blaze of the fire now spreading through the forest was singing the air, making it almost too hot to stand nearby. At Neville's suggestion, they all performed Bubble-Head Charms so as to tolerate the thick plumes of smoke. Teddy took his wand and nodded for Rolf and Luna to follow him.

"Let's leave the dragons to the cullers," he decided. "We need to try and contain the fire."

Reluctantly, they agreed to divide in this way. The handlers all fixed themselves into the saddles of their thestrals. Jem began to whine, his nostrils flaring as the dragons above roared. He was not the most aggressive of dragons.

"Vic," Teddy said, clasping her hand. She looked down at him, her face obscured by her thick goggled and the warmed Bubble-Head Charm. He squeezed her hand tightly, feeling his wedding ring dig into his finger. "Please, be careful. I love you."

"Love you more," she said, her face grim.

The thestrals launched off the ground in a flurry of black wings and with an earth-shuddering flap of his wings, Jem hurled himself after them. Teddy could feel his throat closing up, but it wasn't the smoke. He turned instead towards the blazing forest, producing an enormous jet of water from his wand. Luna and Rolf were thrusting water from the lake over the trees, dousing them in a downpour. The dragon's roars split the air, louder than thunder. He was too scared to look back and see what was happening over the village.

* * *

"They're doing well holding them back," Scorpius murmured, gazing at the Map. He was watching the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, stationed along the staircases on the fourth floor. The goblins were struggling to get up the staircases. He then trailed his finger along the path to check that the Gyrffindors and Slytherins had barred the other entrances to the seventh floor, which three goblins seemed to be making their way towards now.

They watched the fray unfold on parchment, the students outnumbering the goblins and doing a good job at keeping them at bay. They were not unprepared like last time. Rose watched a Hufflepuff girl's dot—Tallulah, she could picture her face—advance along the bannisters of the sixth floor staircase, and then nodded as two more goblins slid down to the floor below.

It was only the three of them left in the common room. Rose's leg was still being mended by Albus, his sing-song enchantment having a soporific effect. The sword had cut through tendons, which was why the spell was taking so long to work. Albus had insisted they stay to keep an eye on the Sword and watch the battle unfold on the Map. Should any of the houses need back up, the boys would be there in a flash.

Truthfully, Rose knew they were too afraid to leave her alone when she was too injured to defend herself.

"The chances of them getting into the common room are slim to none," Scorpius decided, still watching the Map. "The goblins aren't advancing at all. The main staircases are impossible and I think the Slytherins successfully barricaded the North Wing because the three goblins there aren't moving forward. In fact, if we hold them off long enough…"

Scorpius fell silent, his eyes hardening as they focused. He continued to squint at the Map. Albus looked up from Rose's leg, curious about the sudden blanching. As he lost his concentration, the healing enchantment ceased. Rose suddenly felt much more awake, and also much more in pain.

"What?" Albus frowned, studying Scorpius' rattled expression. " _What_?"

"I can't find Romnuk," he muttered.

Albus stood quickly, moving to lean against the table beside Scorpius. His eyes scanned the Map. Both of them bristled nervously, scanning as if to find a needle in a haystack. Albus tapped his wand on the parchment so he could examine a different Wing of the Castle. He did this again and again, and each time his wand hit the parchment, Rose's anxiety jumped. How had they lost Romnuk?

"There!" Scorpius said, planting his forefinger on the parchment. "He's down near the Quidditch Pitch."

"Wait, what? Why?" Albus was shaking his head. "Why on earth would—"

They were interrupted by a sudden hissing and spitting from the fireplace. Rose almost jumped out of her chair but her throbbing leg kept her rooted into the soft sofa cushions. Both boys swung around towards the fireplace, where a head was suddenly taking shape between the flames.

"Teddy?" Albus blinked.

Sure enough, it was Teddy's head sitting on the logs and coals, his blue hair darker than usual. His face was very drawn.

"Oh, good. You're here. I was hoping at least a few of you would be in the Tower. Look, we know what's happening. We're all on our way from Romania."

"How are you Flooing us?" Albus asked. "Could we Floo out of here?"

"Sorry, buddy, no chance. Charlie told me the Gryffindor fireplace was tampered with _years_ ago so I thought this would be the best way for me to get in touch. I can't do a fully body transfer through the flames though. Anyway, I've had to hook this hag's fireplace up to the International Network to speak with you and that's already going to get us in deep shit if we're caugh—"

"Lupin," Scorpius barked impatiently, "focus please!"

"Er, sorry—I'm doing that thing where I'm panicky so I run my mouth off. Look, Harry and the others are stuck in Base Bowfell. The exits have sealed and they're trying to dig their way out. Who knows how long they'll be trapped. The rest of us are coming to take care of the dragons. But Neville contacted me and said you sent James down to tell him there are goblins in the school already—is that true?"

"Yes," Scorpius replied shortly.

"Well, shit. Alright. Is anyone hurt?"

"As far as we're aware, no one except for Rose. She's cut her leg but we're handling it," Albus explained.

Teddy was nodding. "Good. I have to go, our Portkey is ready. Look, they're trying to get the Sword—"

"We know," the three of them said in unison.

"Cool. Just remember, the dragons are more dangerous than the goblins at this point. _Don't_ go outside. Once the Dragon Handlers gets to Hogwarts, we'll send the teachers in to help with the goblins. Stay safe."

For a moment, they all stared at the fireplace as the flames returned to their usual colour and height. Rose swallowed loudly.

"Er, the quicker my leg is mended, the quicker I can help," he said.

Albus made his way back to the sofa. Scorpius returned to the Map.

"Can you check that James is alright?" Albus asked, an edge in his voice.

Scorpius took a moment to scan the parchment, presumably down where the school walls bordered the village road. He nodded. "He's with the Scamander twins and a few of the teachers down by the Lake. They must be evacuating survivors from the village."

Albus was mending Rose's leg with a new charm now, one that didn't require an enchantment. She could feel her skin knitting itself back together. He was almost done.

"And Romnuk?" he asked.

Scorpius was silent again, his eyes scanning the Map. Albus looked up at him, flourishing bandages around Rose's leg. "Scorpius? Where's Romnuk?"

"He's…it's like he's moving up from the floors below us. But I don't see how, there's no staircase there."

Albus huffed once more, leaving Rose to return to the Map. She was itching to get up and follow after him, to get her hands on the Map and start calling shots. She swung her leg gingerly off the sofa and planted her foot on the ground. Her newly mended tendons still twinged with pain.

"That's odd. How's he doing it?"

Rose pulled herself up, moving towards the circular walls of the tower. She gripped a chair for support, furious that she was still injured.

"Guys."

"It's like he's gliding through the floors as if he's a ghost. It's so—"

" _Guys!"_

They both turned to her. She had worked it out of course. It explained why he had left the other goblins and gone to the pitch. He wasn't inside the tower, he was right outside the tower's walls. And as if to illustrate the point, he appeared behind the window Rose was already gesturing towards, gripping a broomstick handle with his left hand and his hammer with the right. Rose had the sense to turn her face away before the glass smashed into fine, clear splinters under the force of his hammer. Romnuk climbed through the window, the broom clattering down to the ground as he found his footing.

"We both have an knack for smashing windows, don't we, Weasley?"

He had filched armour presumable from one of the suits of armour that lined the halls of the Castle, for it was too big for his stature. Still, he was no longer exposed. Rose was furious. She aimed her wand at him and sent a chair clattering against him. He swung his hammer to meet the obstacle and broke it on impact.

His eyes found the Sword glittering in its case, mounted on the wall. He slapped his mallet against the palm of his gnarled hand. Albus moved towards the case. Scorpius moved towards Rose.

"I am not here to hurt you," he said, his guttural voice grounding out the words the way a pestle pounds morsels to powder. There was a diminishing note to his tone, a sour effort to placate them. "I just want the Sword."

"And I just want your head to roll on the carpet," Rose replied coolly.

Romnuk was inching towards the case and Albus was doing the same. Rose hated that she could hardly stand straight. She wanted to lunge at him. His twisted face was breaking into a grin, his mouth like the slash of a knife sliding into a smile.

"We have wiped out your pathetic gang members," Rose spat. "It's just you left.

"You think killing me will end your misery," he growled, "but it will not."

Rose looked into his beady black eyes. He had hurt children as if they had meant nothing. He had tortured them. He had brought anarchy upon the world she knew and loved. He was her misery. He was the pulse she felt for retribution.

"Revenge makes the world go around," Romnuk growled, still sidling closer to the case.

"You won't be able to take the Sword," Scorpius said sharply, attempting to interrupt the standoff between Rose and Romnuk. Neither even looked at him. He went on imploringly, "it was enchanted by Dumbledore himself. Blunt force can't break the glass. The case cannot be opened by magic either. The Sword only presents itself to a Gryffindor who is worthy of it."

Romnuk was still staring at Rose only, his eyes not leaving her, as if Scorpius was nothing but a fly buzzing near his ear. "You see, Weasley, I want revenge too. I want to see my brother fall. I deserved the throne, not him. I was the better metal-smith of the two of us."

"Then why are you using your sister's hammer?" she said bluntly. "Why do you need the Sword of Gryffindor? Make your own weapon."

"Who told you that this was my sisters?" he snarled, suddenly furious. "Orlick, I suppose. The _traitor_. My sister is our family's property. What she forges is _my_ property."

"You won't be able to take the Sword," Scorpius insisted.

"Revenge really does make the world go round," Rose said, sizing him up now. "You think if you avenge the Goblin Kingdom by returning them the Sword, you will be crowned the new King. It's why you were hell-bent on destroying us, wasn't it? Revenge for Ragnuk the First."

Romnuk let out a rasping snarl and lunged at the case. Albus cried and fired a hex that only rebounded off his armour. Romnuk's hammer hit the glass and then bounced off, sending him springing backwards. The glass remained unmoved, like the expression of an unimpressed child waiting for a magic trick. The case had not even cracked. Romnuk looked stunned. He glanced down at the mallet. It clearly had never failed him before. Albus grinned, moving closer to the case now so he was almost in front of it.

"You are daft, aren't you?" he said. "Scorpius told you that you can't crack the glass."

But Romnuk was not deterred. His eyes were moving rapidly over the case then over their faces, bouncing back and forth again.

"How about I put a deal to you," he said.

* * *

When Harry arrived back at Hogwarts, he was expecting carnage, but not what he was confronted with. It was as if the world had turned to flames. The Forbidden Forest blazed. The village was a smouldering, charred mess. Three enormous dragons lay slain in the debris, blood pooling into the streets. Above them was a sound that echoed merpeople shrieks above water, a horrible screeching as dragons has their eyes gouged with spells or their wings cut along the length. The rest of their bodies were dented silver.

Charlie didn't wait to organise a plan with them, but was already sprinting towards the village with his wand drawn.

Ron, Harry, Ginny and Hermione turned to the burning school grounds. Pelting towards them, bows already raised to the sky, were at least forty Centaurs. They rushed out of the forest with their bows raised, a volley of arrows shooting up at the dragons and glancing off their armour.

Hermione held her wand above her head and began an incantation. Storm clouds began to whirl high above her wand, trembling and black. There was a crack of thunder and rain began to fall, thick buckets of water rushing over the burning trees.

"Go into the school," she advised them. "Neville said there are goblins in the school."

"Alright," Harry, Ginny and Ron agreed. They left Hermione with her weather charms and began their ascent to the school. Harry could not shift the magnanimous guilt that this was his fault. Had only they been here, they could have managed this all so much better.

"That damn goblin," Ron muttered as they ran up the sloping grounds to the school's entrance. "Remind me to never trust a goblin as long as I live."

"If any of the students are hurt I will personally hunt him down and kill him," Ginny seethed.

Harry had been here before, over the Sword. He had been betrayed. But this time, it had seemed that a mutual motive would have been enough to maintain Orlick's loyalty. He could not understand why Orlick would betray them when he was loathed by his fellow goblins. He was a Morgana supporter. They were supposed to share the same enemy. He could feel his mouth burning with an acrid taste. He was too trusting. This had been his fault.

* * *

"This can all end with me," Romnuk growled, his eyes still on Rose. "Once I take my brother's throne, I will never return to the Wizarding World. You will all be free."

"You have destroyed our world," Albus bit back. "What makes you think we'll strike a deal with you?"

"I was just the hammer that fell, not the one wielding it. Do you know who destroyed your world? My brother and your old Prime Minister. All I did was bring them down."

"You're not a true anarchist," Albus said calmly, her wand on the goblin gang leader. "You're a narcissistic. You'll do whatever it takes to get yourself to the throne."

Rose heaved her self-upright now, clutching the sofa for support. Both of the boys glanced at her nervously.

"How about you let us consider this offer?" she suggested calmly. "We will meet you once we have talked it through."

All of them were staring at her now as if she were crazed. Even Romnuk was in a state of disbelief that his desperate gamble had worked on her. She could feel her stomach rolling with her odium for Romnuk, but kept it at bay. Her head felt strangely detached.

"You aren't in a position to challenge us," she added. She shuffled awkwardly towards the table and studied the Map. She was silent for a moment as she read the parchment. "Your goblins are all dead. The Order is on their way here and they will certainly be able to overpower you."

Scorpius and Albus stared at Rose. She willed them to just play along.

"We will meet you in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow, at midnight," she decided. "We will bring the Sword if you decide to agree on our terms."

"And how can I trust that you will not ambush me, or I you?"

"There is a tree in the forest by the Centaur glade that glows by night. If you take a broomstick, you will find it easily from above. No one can do any harm if they are under that tree's foliage. That's where we will meet you."

Romnuk was unsettled by these terms. He was scowling, stroking the hammer in his hand thoughtfully. She could see on the Map that their parents were approaching.

"Or we could just kill you now," she shrugged, gesturing to Albus.

Deciding that she was bluffing, Romnuk lunged at Rose with his hammer arcing back. Scorpius used his wand to Summon her to him, avoiding the swing of the mallet. Albus pulled back his fist and smashed the glass case containing the Sword. It shattered easily, just like normal glass, tinkering shards clattering to the ground. He grasped the hilt of the sword and wielded it easily. In one smooth sweep, he cut off the hand that gripped Romnuk's hammer.

The hammer fell to the floor with a heavy _thunk_ , the severed hand still closed in a gnarled vice around it. Romnuk howled, clutching his bleeding arm.

"Up to you, Romnuk," Rose said, smiling slowly. "We can kill you now or you can consider working with us later."

"Fine," he hissed.

"Oh, you better hurry then," Rose said soothingly. "The Order is on their way up. I suggest you leave the way you came in."

He snatched up his hammer with his left hand but he was in no condition to fight. They backed him against the window. He was bleeding profusely now, his entire arm slick with blood. He struggled to get onto the broom while clutching the hammer.

"Leave it," Rose said gently.

"No," he heaved.

"You won't survive if you try to fly carrying that thing one handed."

Romnuk's face was twisted in fury but there was no time for his protest. The portrait hole was opening behind them. With a panicked look, he dropped the hammer and charged out of the window.

The boys turned to Rose, stunned. "Why didn't you just kill him?"

"The timing isn't quite right," she said.

Their parents were in the common room now, wands still drawn. They turned to Harry, Ginny and Ron in their dishevelled state. The hammer sat by the window. The chopped off hand curled on the floor behind a trail of blood. Albus still clutched the Sword.

"Are you three—" Ginny began.

"We're fine!" Albus cried, gesturing to the window. "Romnuk escaped on a broom! You have to go after him."

They hesitated, their faces pained and white.

"We're safe. _Go!_ Before we lose him," Scorpius urged.

They turned and left out of the portrait hole. Rose, Scorpius and Albus stood there once more, panting.

"What's the plan?" Scorpius asked calmly, turning back to Rose.

She gestured for Scorpius to retrieve the hammer.

"We need to get out of here," she said. "Al, you're the most adept at Apparition. If we get to the school's boundaries, do you think we could side-along Apparate somewhere safe? We can't be found by Wizards or goblins."

"I have somewhere in mind."

* * *

Imogen sat with her knees tucked up under her, watching as Scorpius hovered over a boiling cauldron on her kitchen's stovetop. Albus had just finished explaining the entire debacle, carefully healing the remaining cuts on his knuckles. There was a long pause when he had finished speaking.

"So Hogwarts is completely wrecked?" Imogen repeated slowly.

"And the village razed to the ground," Rose went on. "When we Apparated, there was still two dragons fighting mid-air. It took a whole army of wizards and witches to bring them down."

"It's really just Romnuk left," Imogen went on, her face glowing in the light of the Hello Kitty clock.

"That's the thing," Rose said, turning back to look at the boys. "That's why I couldn't bring myself to kill him. The only way to end this is to cut the snake's head off. We need to get into the Goblin Kingdom and kill his brother."

"You're talking regicide here," Scorpius said quietly, looking up from his potion ingredients.

Rose shrugged, standing up and testing out her healing leg.

Albus' face was set in a firm frown. "She's talking about ending this for good."

* * *

 **A/N: I am all out of sorts. Work has been a crazy mess, which probably reflects in my writing. Thanks for sticking with this despite the long breaks between chapters. Xx**


	9. Chapter Eight

**— CHAPTER EIGHT —**

Hermione's logic often allowed her to objectively place her emotions aside so her judgement could remain clear. It was why she had been such an excellent Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Occasionally, she would panic. But this was not the time for panic.

"They're gone," Ron said, his face ashen. "I even had James check the Marauders Map."

Hermione placed her hands on her husband's chest. She had to resist telling him to calm down—the village and forest were smouldering, they were left identifying charred bodies. Calm down seemed callous at best, and it would certainly do nothing but aggravate Ron (she knew this from years of marital diplomacy.

Instead, she said, "They're the only three missing—and they're missing _together_. They must have the Sword of Gryffindor with them."

"That doesn't make it any better, does it?"

"They've prepared for this, Ron."

"What'd you mean they're _prepared_?"

Hermione gave Ron a look that was familiar and very well worn—the exasperated _can't you keep up_ look that she had practised since they were teenagers.

"Rose has been preparing to go after Romnuk for ages," Hermione said. "And I've made sure she's well equipped to do so."

"Hermione! She's seventeen."

"As were we when we went off to find Horcruxes," Hermione replied calmly. As Ron opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand to stop him. "All of students said it was Rose, Albus and Scorpius who led the defence of the Castle—and they did a bloody better job of defending themselves than most of us."

"But—"

"Not a single student was injured," Hermione insisted. "I really do believe they know what they're doing."

* * *

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Rose asked surlily.

Albus had to wonder the same. He had never seen such an assortment of potions ingredients, not even in their Alchemy classes. As if trying to solve a puzzle, he attempted to assemble the ingredients into a conceptual formula to no avail. He kept eyeing the phials shiftily, as if they were maleficently mocking him whenever he looked away. Whatever Scorpius was brewing, it wasn't in any book he had read.

"I'm improvising. It's called allowing inspiration to flow from genius," Scorpius replied, twirling his wrist for effect.

Rose grunted dismissively. Imogen snorted, as if she had never heard anything so ridiculous in all her life.

Her presence in the room annoyed him, even though it was her apartment. She seemed so blithe and amused by everything that had happened, lightly scandalised as if she had read a column in Witch Weekly. She touched Albus' arm as if to share some private mirth. He slipped away and joined Rose, who was sitting on top of the kitchen counter.

"I still don't understand why you didn't kill him," he said in a low voice. The others could still hear him, but he wanted it clear that this was a private conversation.

Rose's jaw was working as if she were chewing on something she didn't want to swallow. "You heard him. We need him."

"He was just bullshitting us so we could spare him."

"No. We need to kill his brother if we stand a chance of ending this for good. We need him to take us to the Goblin Kingdom."

Scorpius glanced up at them both, then returned to his cauldron. He looked too exhausted to deliver any input. His eyes were grey stones sitting in muddy rings. Albus could feel it too—this deep fatigue that wearied his bones. He was only upright because of the adrenalin.

Imogen's blitheness had slid off her like a sheepskin. The tension had left a little stitch between her thick eyebrows.

"Are you suggesting regicide?"

"It's not really any of your business, is it?" Albus replied quietly. For the goblins, this would not end until their King was dead. Morgana supporter or Kobold Könige—it made no difference.

Imogen sensed the despondency being directed her way and walked over to where the cousins were sitting. She stretched her hand out. Albus flinched away from her, but she was only grabbing a bottle of gin from the shelf above his head. She sent him a cold look.

"I thought you could all use a drink," she said defensively.

"Hear, hear," Rose agreed.

He had shown up at Imogen's door without invitation, and it had been his suggestion to bring them to her. He had relied on her good will and willingness to take them in as fugitives, and she had. But sitting in her kitchen was making his stomach clench. The longer he was in her presence, the more he regretted coming.

She passed Rose a gin mixed with flat soda water. Without complaint, Rose downed it with a single tilt of her head. Imogen passed the other two glasses to Scorpius and Albus.

"I don't think drinking is a good idea."

"It's been a mental night for you all," she reasoned, trying to soften her voice. But she still sounded irascible and defensive and it grated on him. "I just thought you could take the edge off."

"I'll have one," Scorpius piped up. It was quite uncharacteristic, as alcohol rarely temped him. He took the drink down in three quick gulps before smashing the glass on the floor. He seemed mortified by his own action. "Sorry! Bad habit," he blurted out, quickly restoring the glass with his wand and setting it on the counter. Rose doubled over in a fit of laughter.

"You're both delirious," Albus said, pushing himself off the counter. He took the bottle from Imogen and set it out of their reach, feeling firmer and older than the rest of them. "This isn't the time for alcohol. We need to think straight."

Rose was still cackling, her head slouched down so her auburn curls obscured her face. She had sneakily picked up the drink Imogen has made for Albus.

"Hey, what did I _just_ say?" he snapped, taking it from her hands. "Oi!" Albus called, diving in with his wand just in time to save the cauldron from tipping off the table. Scorpius had dozed against it. He woke with a start.

"Merlin. Sorry."

They were a mess. Rose couldn't stop cackling to herself like she was a complete nutter. She kept rubbing tears from her eyes before they could slip loose. Scorpius looked ashen. He rubbed his face, looking as if he were about to break down into tears.

"I can take over for a bit, mate," Albus decided firmly, shuffling him away from the cauldron. "You've done the majority of the work, anyway."

They argued for a minute more until Scorpius' stubbornness folded against Albus' soothing insistences.

"Go shower and sleep," Albus suggested, taking his spot at the kitchen table.

"The bathroom is down the hall on the right," Imogen offered, jumping at the opportunity to be helpful. "And you can crash in my mum's bedroom. She's not home."

"It needs to brew then simmer before you add the leech eggs," Scorpius said drowsily. "Hold on I'll write it down."

"Brew and simmer," Albus repeated, watching as Scorpius scribbles frantically on a roll of paper towel.

"Brew and simmer," Scorpius nodded slowly. With these final instructions, shoving the scrunched up instructions into his friend's chest, he acquiesced and drifted from the room with heavy steps.

"Merlin, he looks dreadful." Albus was equally as sleep deprived, but somehow holding it together. "I thought it would be tactless to ask, but how the hell did he get _unicorn_ blood?"

"I don't know," Rose replied worriedly, casting a look over her shoulder. She slid off the counter as if intending to follow him but stopped short.

"And what sort of recipe is he using?" Albus persisted. "This is really Dark stuff."

"Lay off, alright? I don't know what he's concocted."

"Rose, whatever the hell he's brewing is cursed magic. I know you both think the end can justify the means but we need to hold onto our morality here."

With a weak smile, Rose reached forward and squeezed her cousin's shoulders. He was so incredibly good. Better than she or Scorpius ever could be. His green eyes, bloodshot as they were, still held onto their earnestness. He had always been an anchor, a mediator, a moral compass.

"Why are you looking at me like that? You weirdo," he said, wrenching himself free. "Merlin, the two of you drive me mental."

"You can use the bathroom down the hall if you would like to shower, too, Rose. I have pyjamas you can change into," Imogen suggested.

"Good idea. I'm still quite damp."

Imogen disappeared for a moment to fetch some towels. Rose leaned against the doorframe and surveyed Albus, who stood over the bubbling, foul smelling cauldron, and slowly grinned.

"If you wanted to be alone with her you should have asked."

" _She's_ the one who got rid of you both, not me," he replied quietly.

"Oh, yeah. Well, watch out, Al."

She wandered out of the room after Imogen. This teasing incensed him further. He tapped the cauldron sharply to lower the heat.

* * *

It shouldn't have really been a concern after the fray, but once the castle had been searched for damages, Hermione was informed that Stella Bellucci was missing. Her cell was empty. Had she escaped or had something else happened?

She was sitting in Professor McGonagall's old office. The chair forced her spine to remain incredibly straight despite her every muscle aching. She wondered to fold over.

It occurred to Hermione that Stella would never receive a trial and would never be sent to Azkaban. Amid the razed village and the destroyed forest and the flooded castle, she wondered if justice could still be salvaged. She had only joined the Ministry of Magic because she wanted to build a better, more just world. It had unravelled so easily.

"Still no sign of Romnuk?" she asked Dean Thomas, who shook his head and scowled.

"The Aurors are still looking, but nothing."

Hermione was exhausted. Whose idea of justice were they applying in any case? What Stella had done was justified under Gladstone's laws. Who decided how to make the world better? Better for who?

"Hermione, are you alright?" Dean asked, crouching down so they were level.

"Are they identifying the dead?" she asked briskly.

Dean frowned, his dark eyes wells of grief. He nodded. "The list of missing people is still quite long though. A lot of bodies can't be identified."

"And the goblins?"

"All dead and accounted for, except for Romnuk. The school Professors are still mending the Slytherin Dungeons but all the bodies were retrieved."

Hermione could feel her defences cracking. "Dean, could you find me a family member? Any one of them will do. Whoever isn't busy."

"A family member?" he repeated. That was a long list.

He returned about fifteen minutes later with Ginny behind him. Her arms and cheek were covered in a thick pink burn paste that clashed awfully with her red hair. She briefly patted Dean's shoulder as he walked out.

"We had to move the kids to another—less underwater—wing of the castle. They're all fine, though."

But after saying this, Ginny became aware that Hermione had not called upon her for a report. She was wilting in her chair, her head collapsing as if scaffolding had been pulled out from under her. Ginny rushed around the desk and took a seat on the thin arm of the wooden chair. Her firm grasp on Hermione's shoulders seemed to be all that was keeping her upright now.

"I know," Ginny soothed.

"We failed, again. We failed to protect—to—"

"That was their last effort. They have nothing left. They're gone."

"But our children—"

Ginny wrapped Hermione in her arms—she knew no words could comfort this feeling. She was feeling it too. They had fought. They had lost their childhoods. The bargain was their children wouldn't have to. Their children would grow up safe and obliviously peaceful. There was no justice in it.

* * *

The air was cool in the pre-dawn light, a light iridescent and soft with the wink of stars. Rose came out of the bathroom, warm from the shower's steam, and saw Scorpius standing on the balcony with the glass sliding door open to let in the cool air.

She slipped out onto the balcony beside him. The deliriousness had ebbed following hot showers, but their energy was low. Electrical lines dissected the view of the street. It was getting lighter but the street lamps still buzzed with their artificial halos.

"You came around to Al's Stone idea," Rose said, nudging his hip.

At first, Scorpius didn't reply. Maybe he resented her bringing up his doubts. Then, quite grimly, he said, "I thought the stones were stupidity until Bellucci killed herself."

He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on the brick balcony wall, staring out across the street. "Bellucci did some truly horrible things, but even if she had died sooner, it wouldn't have changed anything. Gladstone had been the force that put her potions into action, and perhaps there were forces working around Gladstone that drove his ideologies."

Rose squinted at him before turning her gaze onto the street below also. "Sometimes you are so articulate I can't follow what you're saying."

Scorpius sighed heavily. "You and Albus wanted a bargaining chip because you knew even after you killed Romnuk, things wouldn't resolve. Killing him was retribution but not a resolution."

A car wooshed down on the street below, spraying the gutters with water as it passed through puddles. Rose wondered where that person could possibly be going at such an early hour of the morning. Or, perhaps, where they were returning leaned forward and rested her chin on the veranda's rail. The cold metal hurt her teeth.

"It occurred to me when I saw Bellucci's body on the floor," he said. "It doesn't need to just be a bargaining chip. It can be a weapon."

"You can't trick a goblin that easily."

"Trust me, this will be convincing."

"And you're fine with regicide then?"

"It was your idea, not mine."

"And poison of all things?"

"They poisoned you at the Three Broomsticks in fifth year. I'm borrowing their tactics, aren't I?"

Rose stared at Scorpius, his features blurred by the muted light. She didn't say anything for about a minute. Scorpius tried hard to read her expression but couldn't quite make it out in the dark.

"What?" he asked. He fidgeted nervously. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"Can I kiss you?" Rose asked urgently.

"Always," he said, without missing a beat.

So they did. When they finally pulled apart, it was only for Rose to blurt out the confession she had been carrying around all night.

"I love you. I can't believe it's taken me this long to catch up with you."

Scorpius sighed, as if relieved. He leaned forward and pressed his forward against hers.

"I know."

"And you've loved me this _whole_ time."

"Yes."

"Since we were children, really. Since first year."

"Hm. Just like Potions and Quidditch, I tend to beat you to it."

"This isn't a competition."

"Of course not," he replied, brushing the curls away from her eyes. "But if it was I definitely won."

He kissed her again lightly. Then again. He kissed her nose and her cheeks. She kissed his lips over and over. They stayed there a while longer, their arms around each other, hugging each other fiercely and occasionally meeting the other with a kiss. They sunk into each other, exhausted and relieved that they at least had this moment. The sky turned pink and the clouds blushed mauve as the sun climbed above the horizon. Birds fluttered overhead to perch across the electrical wires, singing their morning songs. As the day arrived, they crawled onto the bed and fell asleep heavily in each other's arms.

* * *

For Harry, dawn made it worse somehow. He couldn't bear to see the village in smoking wreckage. The jets of dragon fire, the burning inferno—it had been horrific, but the aftermath was worse. At least when the dragons were causing chaos, there was a problem that needed to be solved.

They were using their wands to sift through the rubble and debris, looking for any other bodies—hoping that they would be found alive. The sun began to rise through the thick cloud of smoke, casting everything in an ember glow.

He wondered if Romnuk that he would win with this last-ditch destructive plan or whether it was just revenge.

Ron had told him that Albus was missing and that Hermione didn't think it should concern them. A part of Harry was concerned though. He had seen his son carrying the Sword of Gryffindor. He was certain that Romnuk hadn't escaped. He had been released. He wouldn't have stopped Albus and the others, whatever plan they may have had, but he would have liked if he were consulted. Harry had been in a similar position once after all.

"What's this I hear about Scorpius going missing?"

He turned around, stumbling a little as the rubble shifted under his boot. Draco Malfoy stood opposite him, his silver hair still neatly in its long, slick ponytail. He didn't look the slightest bit ruffled.

"The three of them are missing, Draco," Harry frowned, squinting at him as the sun continued to rise. "Intentionally missing, it seems."

"From the beginning it was clear that your lot were a bad influence on my son," Draco seethed, taking steps forward. "Now he's placing himself in danger—"

"He's being heroic and selfless! Which is more than what he can say about his father!" Harry snapped back, his temper getting the best of him. He suddenly very much wanted to hit or curse Draco. Draco seemed to want to do the same. Just like old times.

"Harry!" It was Neville, tumbling toward him over the loose debris and ashes. "You better come quick."

Harry didn't ask questions. He moved past Draco, hitting his shoulder as they passed, and took off at a sprint following Neville. After a moment, he could tell that Draco was sprinting after him. He resisted the urge to send a tripping hex over his shoulder.

They entered the school gates and continued up to the edges of the smouldering forest, at least half of which was blackened. Small spot fires were still being put out. Standing along the tree-line was a herd of centaurs. They agitatedly pawed the ground so ash rose in little clouds beneath their hooves. Hagrid stood before them, palms raised as if to steady them, doing his best to be diplomatic.

"Our home has been razed to the ground," Ronan fumed, snorting with anger.

"Yeh, and so has ours, mind. The whole village is gone!"

"Trees that were thousands of years old have been destroyed—a village can be repaired."

"WE LOST LIVES!" Hagrid bellowed furiously.

"That's enough," Harry said firmly, relieved there was something to do other than look for wreckage. "Ronan, we understand what this has cost the centaurs and we are grateful you came to help us."

"We did not aid you as allies, Harry Potter. We fought to protect ourselves from those beasts. This calamity only befell the centaurs because of yet another human war."

"Yes, well," Harry said shortly, bristling a little, "you did see it coming didn't you? You prophesised it over a year ago."

"That does not change the cause."

"We will work out some sort of way to restore—"

" _You_!" Draco yelled, now levelling with the rest of the men. He was panting somewhat from sprinting after Harry across the sloping lawns. "You're the reason why my son is missing!"

If it were possible, the centaurs looked more affronted. They shook their manes back in anger.

"You told him that _stupid_ prophecy," Draco continued, shaking with anger now. " _The heirs of a war-torn generation will lead a new battle._ It's because of you that he ran off!"

"We do not share our prophecies with humans," Krikor said sullenly.

"Someone must've, because they have it in their heads that they need to save the damn world!"

The suggestion that their stargazing predictions had been shared with three human children made the centaurs nervously restless. They tossed their heads once more and turned to Hagrid for their parting words.

"If we find humans in our forest, we will kill them Hagrid. Be warned."

They turned and galloped away, back into the smoking field of blackened trunks. They watched them disappear into the haze of smoke. They were all subdued by Ronan's final parting words. Hagrid clucked his tongue, his wild grey beard singed in places from the battle.

"Ruddy stargazers," he muttered quietly.

After the silence had become too much, Draco finally cried, "Will no one take responsibility?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Neville shouted out, turning on him. "No one forced Scorpius to go! You clearly don't know your son if you think he'd sit idly by while the world was burning."

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it again.

"He's my only son," he said, his voice breaking. "He's my only son."

"So you should be proud of him," Harry replied. Suddenly, he himself felt proud. Even that Albus had not asked his help—while it stung, he was still proud. Albus knew how to handle himself. And he trusted that he and Ginny had taught him well.

Neville shook his head, looking exasperated by Draco. "Go do something _useful_ , for Godric's sake. Give Scorpius a reason to be proud of _you_."

Harry fell in step with Neville, heading back towards the village, but he couldn't help but feel a little better leaving Draco behind with the cowed expression on his face.

* * *

The soporific effects of a bubbling cauldron on low heat had Albus drifting off a little but he forced himself to stay away. His eyes were burning. After trying to resurrect a conversation, Imogen had left him alone in the kitchen and returned to the sofa about a half hour ago. Through the door, he could make out her socked feet resting on the curled arm. The sun was rising; dawn light peeked through the kitchen curtains like an uninvited guest. Albus nodded off once and jerked away, the room still quiet.

He left the cauldron for a moment and made his way to the sofa in the next room. Imogen was asleep, her head tilted back and her mane of dirty blonde hair tumbling over the side of the couch. The Sword of Gryffindor lay across her coffee table, oddly out of place.

He jabbed her awake.

"Oi!"

"Can you sit with me? I'll fall asleep if I don't have company."

She glared at him in a way that satisfied him. Without a word, she stood up and returned to the kitchen. They sat on either side of the cauldron.

Imogen yawned wide like a cat. She rubbed her eyes. The potion let off an awful acrid smell, like leather burning.

"This is a little crazy," Imogen said, nodding to the cauldron.

"No one has a better idea, do they?"

Imogen bit her lip, then sighed heavily through her nose. She leaned back on the kitchen chair, balancing it on two legs. It made Albus anxious that she would fall and crack her head.

Stupidly, Albus found himself thinking of his dad. He desperately wished he was here now, that he was here to confide in. To explain that he thought Rose and Scorpius were losing themselves. That they were spiralling down into Dark Magic. That they had gone completely rogue, that it had all become too complicated and tangled. That he didn't know if killing Romnuk or the Goblin King would solve anyone's problems or if it would just bring them closer to annihilation.

And he knew what his father would say. The only answer to all of this mess was love. But love seemed so impossible in all of this.

"I'll make us some tea," Imogen said, righting her chair and getting out of it.

His bitterness lapped against his insides, turning him churlish. He hated her hospitality. Why had she so soundly accepted him in when she had been the one to leave all those months ago?

She placed the cup in front of him and then stood over him, her attempts at patience cracking.

"Spit is out, Albus. Whatever you want to say."

He shook his head, as if to pretend it were nothing, when it was so clearly not nothing. She grew more frustrated. He was surprise she didn't try to clobber him.

"I thought you made peace with the fact I left," she snapped.

"I _did_."

"You clearly _didn't_."

Albus refused to say anything. He knew if he did he'd snap at her.

She sat down opposite him now, her face surprisingly soft. "I left because I didn't want to fight this fight. It wasn't personal."

"It was personal to me."

They stared at each other for a long moment, nothing but the bubbling cauldron making sound. He wondered if Scorpius and Rose were asleep, whether they hadn't heard their row. He prayed that they hadn't. He could feel his face burning now as he stared into Imogen's tawny, bright eyes.

He knew that she didn't love him. Not in the way that he had loved her. He hated himself for not being able to let it go. He didn't have the room for any extra weight to carry.

The potion turned a deep shade of scarlet, rippling the surface like blood. He tapped his wand on the bottom of the cauldron to extinguish the heat. Then he carefully lowered the leech eggs into the mixture. It sizzled sinisterly.

"I do care about you, Albus—"

"I'm going to get some sleep," he announced, standing with the chair scraping behind him. "Can you watch the potion and wake me in an hour please?"

She curled up on the chair, her knees tucked under her chin.

* * *

The trees in the Forbidden Forest had become as twisted and black as used matchsticks. Teddy once liked the look of smoke, the way it waltzed from the puckering light of a poisonous cigarette. He couldn't imagine how he could ever have entertained that thought. The smoke wafted mournfully across the village and school grounds in a thick haze. The stench made his lungs ache and eyes water.

Charlie stripped off his dragon hide gloves and threw them onto the pile with the rest of the dragon keepers' equipment. Victoire was having several burns on her legs healed with a thick paste. The scars would be terrible. He knew that she didn't mind them at all.

"How's the medical evacuation going?" Victoire asked, looking up at him.

"There are a lot of people dead."

He had been experiencing a catastrophe of panic during the attack, seeing what felt like his home burn and so many people burn along with it. But a numbness had set in when they had started laying out the charred bodies of the victims. Children, families, members of the resistance. Some were not identifiable at all. He had shut down when he had found Digby's body. He was certain it was Digby, despite the burns to his face. He had a mole between his thumb and forefinger that signalled the unbearable truth. He had not realised he had joined the Order. He had never made up with him. The last he had seen him was at his wedding.

Victoire took his hand. She was fearless and brave and Teddy wanted to be just as brave. He just felt old.

He squeezed her hand.

"I'm so tired of all the fighting and dying now," he said quietly.

"This was the last of it," she said. "They're all gone. Romnuk is missing, but the rest of the Kobold Könige are dead."

"Think of the aftermath. Of how much has been destroyed."

"We will rebuild."

How was she still so hopeful?

"You know, Teddy," she said, pulling him so he would sit down beside her. "By some miracle, we both survived this war. And we're both together again. And do you know what is more radical than revolts and revolutions?"

He shook his head. Victoire leaned in and rested her chin on his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear, as if sharing a secret.

"Love."

He felt something hard in his throat. He thought he might choke on it. Great sobs wracked his body. It was pure grief. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and slowly stroked his hair.

* * *

Imogen let the trio sleep soundly from about six-thirty to two in the afternoon. Rose was the first to wake up, still wearing a pair of Imogen's plaid pyjamas and realising that she hadn't packed them a change of clothes. They would need to get supplies today, before they set off. She tugged her fingers through her hair when she saw that Imogen was in the kitchen. It reminded Imogen of a feral animal trying futilely to groom itself.

Rose was rested but restless.

"Thanks for all this," she said, gesturing to the apartment in general.

"Least I can do."

It was an odd response, betraying some guilt. Although Rose was not one to comment on other people's guilt anymore. She had her own to wrestle with.

The potion had turned a rich ruby red. It was still and cool, sitting on the stovetop. If she didn't know any better, it could almost pass for tomato soup. She was tempted to dip her finger in it but thought better.

Scorpius joined them, also in pyjamas—although Imogen and her mother did not have any men's clothing in their home, so he was wearing a large knitted jumper and a pair of Imogen's jogging bottoms that were slightly too tight. The oddly androgynous look on his thin frame was compelling.

He had neatly folded both he and Rose's clothes.

"I stupidly didn't pack any change of clothes," Rose admitted. "I mean, I brought goblin armour with me. But not clothes."

"We'll survive," Scorpius shrugged, smiling a little.

He tentatively picked up the cauldron and returned it to the kitchen table. He sniffed it, and Rose realised it was now odourless. The foul smell had evaporated. He then stirred it cautiously, testing the consistency.

"A Stone please."

Rose left the room to retrieve her mother's small beaded bag. When she returned, Albus had woken up and joined them. His air was sticking up at odd angles and his eyes were bloodshot.

Rose handed over a fake Philosopher's Stone. Scorpius took it and examined it for a moment, his eyes darting over the ruby surface. Imogen opened her mouth to comment but then shut it again.

He carefully lowered the Stone into the potion with a pair of tongs. It sizzled as it touched the surface, then sank to the cauldron's depths.

"We'll have to give it a few hours," Scorpius acknowledged.

They stared at the cauldron in silence, as if expecting some sort of response from it. It sat there, inanimate, the potion still a macabre red.

"Well, if we have time to kill," Rose said slowly, turning back to Imogen, "perhaps you can take us to the nearest store? We need supplies."

Rose was far less methodical than her mother, who had created an inventory of everything they might need when she and her two friends had set off to search for Horcruxes. Rose had packed on whim, as the impulse struck her—they would need weapons and shelter and some books, of course. They would need a potions kit and healing balms and a set of scales. In this respect, she was well prepared.

But the practicalities had escaped her. She had not thought to pack clothes or soap or food—and this she needed to rectify. In all her father's retellings of the tedious camping in the woods during the Second Great Wizarding War, the lack of food had been his biggest complaint. It was not merely that the trio had limited resources and a limited breadth of practical magic—Hermione was not a good cook. Rose knew this from experience. After getting married, Ron had realised that if he wanted to satisfy his appetite he would need to learn the basics from his mum—so it was Ron who usually made dinner, big hearty dishes that accounted for the weight around his belly. Whenever his wife offered to cook, Ron reminded her of the rubbery mushrooms she had prepared while they were in hiding and this would quickly end any further offers.

After Albus had showered and dressed, the four teenagers took off to find the nearest supermarket. Imogen reassured them it was a fifteen minute walk but it seemed longer. Rose felt strangely exposed in the muggle streets, where mothers pushed prams and men jogged by with dogs on leashes. They were not quite used to being out and about, having spent so much time shuffled between safe houses and then locked inside Hogwarts. She had forgotten what it felt like to just walk down a street. After a while, she linked arms with Scorpius and rested her head on his shoulder. She wondered what they looked like to passers-by—maybe truants from school—and it amused her to feel so normal, like stepping into a different skin.

Albus purposely dropped his pace so Imogen was now ahead of the pack, leading them, and fell into step with his other two friends. To fit three across the pavement, Rose had to relinquish Scorpius.

"You two are awfully chummy," Albus commented, cocking his eyebrow. "What did I miss while I was looking after that potion?"

"We just had our first good night's sleep in an eternity," Scorpius said lightly.

"You two a quite frosty," Rose echoed back, lowering her voice. "What did we miss while _we_ slept?"

Albus rolled his eyes and shrugged. "The sooner we're gone, the better."

"Can't relate." Rose linked arms with Scorpius again, forcing Albus back in front of them. He turned around to keep his eyes on her, walking backwards. She gave him a toothy grin. "This almost feels like old times."

Old times. Before everyone was dead, she meant. Albus shook his head and joined Imogen again, just as they came to a supermarket parking lot.

The doors slid coolly open for them, anticipating their arrival, just like magic. The store was huge, broken into aisles filled with colourful products. Scorpius' eyes lit up.

Albus, choosing to take control of the situation, suggested that they split up to make sure they covered all the aisles. Without waiting for input, he strode down the cereal aisle. Imogen winced and shrugged, citing that she needed to grab some groceries anyway, and she too took off.

"I'll take Imogen, you take Albus," Scorpius offered.

"Are we match-making or counselling?" Rose joked back.

But Scorpius wasn't kidding. His face was pinched, concerned.

"Rose, we're going to the Goblin Kingdom. Do you really think Albus wants to part on such terrible terms with Imogen when this may be the last time they ever see each other?"

She stood there, not knowing what to say back. She realised with the gravity weighing his words that he was implying _they_ wouldn't be coming back. Panic squeezed her heart again—if anything happened to either of these boys—

Scorpius pecked her quickly on the lips and then ambled after Imogen, still looking ridiculous in his borrowed jogging bottoms but unfazed. Rose realised she would need to do the same.

The two corresponding conversations went something like this.

Scorpius cornered Imogen by the frozen food section, and after marvelling over the fact muggles had found a way to freeze food to be consumed later after being reheated, he leaned against one of the freezer does and frowned down at Imogen.

"Is this really how you want to leave things with Albus? A trip to Aldi and then au revoir?"

"I don't speak French," she said coldly. "And _I've_ been trying. He's the one—"

"Who lost his closest friend," Scorpius completed. "So I suggest trying a little harder to make amends."

On the other hand, as a complete juxtaposition, Rose tracked Albus down to the non-perishable goods. He was turning over a can of beans to read the label. He glanced up at Rose and rolled his eyes.

"Weren't we supposed to be splitting up?"

"Why are you being so cold to Imogen?"

"Does that really require asking?" he snapped pack. He selected a different, cheaper brand of beans and put the can in his shopping basket. Rose turned to peruse the shelf.

"I thought you had moved on."

She said this without looking at him, as if she were just discussing the shelf-life of tinned tuna. He threw her a side-long glance and then returned to the tuna also.

"I have. Honestly."

"Then what is it? _You_ suggested coming here."

"I _know_. But seeing her just—brought up all these unsaid things. And seeing you and Scorpius being so—"

"What?"

"Disgustingly cute," Albus snorted. "I dunno."

Rose turned to him, taking the red basket out of his hands. Her look was crippling.

"You retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor. I don't need to tell you to be brave."

* * *

Albus caught Imogen at the register as she unloaded her items onto the conveyer belt. To the woman behind the register, chewing her gum with a slack jaw, the two teenagers could simply have passed as young quarrelling couple.

"I'm sorry about the way I've been acting," Albus said, squinting at her. "I don't want to be childish and resentful. The truth is, we were close, once. And now we're not."

"Well," Imogen said, her face turning a little pink. She gave the check out woman a fluttering look and turned back to Albus. The electronic bleeps punctured the awkward pause as each barcode was scanned.

"I think I had feelings for you then," Albus admitted. "And after you and André…I moved on. I don't have room in my head for you anymore, Imogen."

"Good to know," she said crisply. She handed over her money and swept up her bag into the crook of her arm. Albus had to jog to catch up to her as she took off, leaving a receipt behind.

"I'm not trying to be mean this time, I swear! Look, Midge, I'm okay with the choices you made, even if those choices hurt. I did move on and I'm not trying to punish you."

She squared off with him. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind.

He shrugged, struggling to find the words, not out of cowardice or resentment but simply because the feeling of grief that stuck to him was so strong. He mourned the Albus he once was, the one he had grown out of. He had been purer and clearer and the world had seemed simpler to him then.

"I wish I could go back to a time where unrequited love was my biggest problem," he explained, laughing abruptly. "Seeing you made me wish I was back there, back in the world of school drama where dumping Lucy Bird or dealing with you dating André Zabini was the worse thing that could happen. But I'm not there anymore. I guess I took it out on you because you reminded me what I've lost."

They stared at each other for a moment. A man walked past pushing a line of shopping trolleys. People continued to unload their grocery bags into the back of their cars. A small part of Albus knew that this would be the perfect moment for her to reassure him that he hadn't lost her—that she loved him and had just been stubborn. But he didn't even allow those thoughts to unfold. Whether she loved him or not was immaterial. Imogen wouldn't act on those emotions and, even if she had, Albus no longer wanted to respond.

Instead she said, "Is it really a good idea to be going to the Goblin Kingdom?"

"They brought the war to us. We're now taking the war to them."

* * *

The supermarket was cycling through a pleasant playlist of ballads that had a tinny, muffled resonance through the speakers. Occasionally the music would be interrupted by an almost undistinguishable voice asking for a price check. Scorpius was quite amused by the atmosphere of the place, its pedestrian monotony. He pushed his shopping trolley, adding a few pairs of socks that were on sale to his growing hoard.

Rose traipsed down the other end of the aisle. She took hold of cart and grinned.

"I just saw Albus head to the register after Imogen."

Scorpius nodded, wondering what the outcome would be—whether a confession of love from either of them would change anything. He couldn't imagine it would. Albus was set on his path now, the same path they were on. He couldn't drag Imogen after him. And Scorpius didn't fancy Albus as the kind of man who would even try that. If someone loved you, they chose you.

"Why three pairs of socks?" Rose asked, scrunching up her face. "Just buy one—we can duplicate them if we need more."

"Touché," Scorpius said, bowing his head. Rose took out the additional pairs and dumped them near the cosmetic section, forcing Scorpius to retrieve them and return them to their correct spot up the aisle. As he walked back to Rose, who was shaking her head in disbelief, he noticed the music change overheard.

"Is this Celestina Warbeck?" he asked, gobsmacked.

His incredulity made Rose laugh. "No, you muppet. It's Adele. You always have this reaction when you hear her—Merlin, after this is all over I'm getting us concert tickets."

"You have to admit it's uncanny how similar they sound."

"I've played you Adele before," Rose accused, thinking of their first real kiss.

Scorpius was smiling coyly and she thought perhaps he was playing coy. He came around the trolley to face her.

"Not this one. What's this one?"

She paused to listen. "Sweetest Devotion."

He smiled as he also listened intently to the lyrics and she wondered what he heard in them, what he was thinking. She thought she might know. She could still feel herself blushing, thinking of her confession on the balcony at the break of day.

He offered his hand to her. "Care to dance?"

"Here?" she said, eyes wide. She looked around comically, as if expecting a security guard to walk towards them waggling a finger disapprovingly.

He widened his eyes in reaction, teasing her. "Is it not allowed?"

She grinned, taking his hand. For a moment, she thought of their giddy New Year's foxtrot in the lush, misty humidity of the Malfoy greenhouse. She thought of his ridiculous karaoke set up in the Great Hall. She leaned against him as he slid a hand around her waist and took the other to gently steer her. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live the rest of her life with Scorpius Malfoy. Complicated, yes. But life _was_ complicated anyway. Didn't it make the end result all the more sweet?

Each lyric felt as if it had been written for them, right then, and written for what was coming. In her head, she vowed that when this was all over she really would get those concert tickets.

In his head, he vowed that when this was all over, he would one day ask Rose to marry him.

"Albus called us disgustingly cute," Rose grinned against his shoulder where her cheek rested.

"A very apt choice of words," he acknowledged as the song ended, transitioning into another ballad. They pulled a part. "Let's go pay. We need to head back to the apartment and get our plans straight."

* * *

Imogen's mother arrived at home in the afternoon to find three of her daughter's friends sitting on her sofa watching Netflix. She had never met any of Imogen's friends before. Her daughter had always been a proud creature and didn't like to discuss them.

She placed her keys in the ceramic bowel by the door and smiled warmly at the three other teenagers. Imogen had not explained in detail what was happening in that _other_ world, the world of magic that Miranda didn't entirely believe was true despite having seen the proof a hundred times over. All she knew was it was dangerous at the moment— _like our world, mum, with terrorists and everything_ —and she wasn't going back to school to finish. They hadn't argued much about this—Miranda hadn't finished high school either and she had turned out perfectly fine.

She insisted they stay for dinner, so they did. Imogen had washed all their clothes, so they were appropriately dressed. Rose had stowed the Sword inside her small beaded handbag and the remaining Potion had been Vanished. There were no signs to suggest anything was amiss. It could simply be a holiday visit.

She cooked a butter chicken curry and their guests absolutely devoured the meal as if they had not seen meat in a long while.

So at the end of the evening, as the time approached ten-thirty, she couldn't understand her daughter's melancholy. They had spent the whole day together and surely there was nothing stopping them from visiting again. But Imogen was uncharacteristically cowed as she showed them out.

"You definitely have everything you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Imogen," Scorpius said. He moved forward as if to hug her and then decided—absurdly—on a handshake.

Rose was less cautious and gave her an enormous hug. After these farewells, she suddenly couldn't bare to say goodbye to Albus. She almost wanted to just shut the door on him.

But for the first time in that 24 hours, he seemed utterly calm again. His green eyes were clear and earnest, as they had been years before. He gave her a soft smile and reached out for her too. But he didn't hug her. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and held for a moment at arm's length so he could meet her bright, tawny eyes.

"Thank you for your friendship," he said with a smile. "And thanks for looking after us."

He gave her a brief hug before taking both Rose and Scorpius in his grip and turning on the spot, vanishing with a loud pop.

Many months later, Imogen—who would be working at the local news agency and would pick it up as a whisper between two older women dressed in cloaks—would get word that the Ministry had re-established itself and the life she had put on pause was resuming. Like the many refugees and fugitives that had left to preserve their lives, she would eventually integrate back into that world of magic. She would learn of what Albus, Rose and Scorpius had done. In the years that would follow, she would bump into Albus at Diagon Alley and they would share stilted small talk about the common denominators in their lives, where he would feign a warmth that no longer existed between them.

Albus would fall in love again—again and again, each time thinking he would never see his broken heart mend yet surviving only to love again—until he would finally find someone (when he wasn't even looking) who loved him back in equal measures. And all that heartache was nothing but anecdotes to the great romance of his life, and he would look back without any bitterness. Imogen would not be invited to his wedding but would read about it in the papers, and she would smile a little, knowing he had got what he had wanted.

But their timing had never been right. And they had never been right for each other. She knew it as she shut the door. And she wished desperately, without knowing yet what would come, that he would survive this war to love someone new again, someone who could love him back in the ways she simply couldn't.

* * *

 **A/N: Please accept the typos I missed as a gift to you, as I wanted to get this chapter up ASAP.**

 **For all those shipping Al and Midge (Midgebus? Alogen? Gee whiz, what a ship name) please don't kill me for sinking your ship. For all those shipping Scorose, enjoy the cheese in this.**

 **Thanks for your patience, and your reviews! Much love, Van.**


	10. Chapter Nine

—CHAPTER NINE—

Without brooms and a bird's eye advantage, Rose, Scorpius and Albus Apparated nearby to Hogwarts' gates and snuck along the tree line to Hagrid's cabin.

The school grounds were empty. No one saw them sneak into the opening of the forest. For a fleeting moment, they all turned to look back at the castle, as if hoping to spot someone they knew—a family member, a friend. But the castle was eerily dark, no lights in any of the windows. It stood like a grieving monolith, a giant headstone looming over the ash-buried village.

The air was still thick with smoke. In the light of their wands, the forest loomed like a surreal phantasmagoria. They were swallowed up in the heavy stench of burnt timber. They performed Bubble-Head Charms and continued to walk. Eventually, as they moved off the path, they found trees that had not been scorched by the dragon inferno. They remained standing, sometimes only in patches, but persistent.

Without landmarks, it made it more difficult to find the Centaur glade. They had a terrible thought—what if the Refuge Tree had also been destroyed in the fires—and despite the fact they were all thinking it, none of them dared say it.

Yet their fears were abated as, after almost an hour of walking, they saw a dim golden light spooling across the ashen forest floor.

They sighed in relief and quickened their pace. Light like strands of gold honey poured across the glade. They removed the charms that were helping them breathe. Even here, the tinge of smoke seemed to fade from the air.

Romnuk was already there, standing between the thick roots of the tree. His broomstick had been discarded. His hammer was being held in his good hand. The other was a bandaged stump, still wet with blood. Even if the gilded light, he looked fragile and pale.

"You have had time to heal," he rasped, his dark eyes scatting resentfully over the places where their former wounds had been. He clutched his stump closer to his chest, an oddly protective gesture.

They stood there for a moment before Albus clucked his tongue. He took several steps toward him.

"I'll heal you."

"How can I trust you?"

Albus almost threw his hands up in exasperation. He regarded Romnuk with something close to disgust. "We could have killed you already, mate. And we haven't."

Aided by the effects of the Refuge Tree's golden light, Romnuk slowly trudged forward and unbound his severed arm. Albus touched his wand to the goblin's skin and began to chant a healing incantation. The quiescence of the glade blanketed them gently, muting their hostility and chariness.

For a moment, Romnuk's guard faltered and they saw his awe at the magic.

Rose took a step forward, stepping over one of the thickest tree roots. "Take us to the Goblin Kingdom and we will help you kill your brother," she said.

"You need our help," Scorpius added. "The Kobold Könige is dead."

Romnuk blinked at them both, then looked at Albus' calm face as he chanted his incantation. Its effect was hypnotic.

"You wish to join the cause?"

"We want to be there when it happens," Rose was firm now. It was clearly not a negotiation. "And we want a peace treaty to be signed when you are made king."

These last words seemed intoxicating to Romnuk, in spite of himself. The very notion of being king made his head tweak back towards them.

"We will be there to bind that treaty with magic," Scorpius added. "We just need you to trust that we want to work together."

* * *

Following the battle, the remaining Slytherin students were expatriated to the Gryffindor Tower. The same was done for the Hufflepuff students, who were given permission to sleep in the Ravenclaw Tower. With the school dungeons and basement rapidly flooding, it was the soundest option. The school was utterly dark, no lights in the hallways, as if the building itself was in mourning.

They had survived an exhausting day. The older students had volunteered to assist in identifying the dead from Hogsmeade. Many had found the charred bodies of friends or their friends' family members among those slain. Toby Fleischer had located Alice Lim's parents collapsed beneath the Three Broomsticks, and after identifying their bodies she had disappeared back into the castle and had not been seen until after dark.

They went back to their common rooms hungry. House elves had supplied meagre vegetable soup, all that could be managed with supplies so low. But most of the students didn't eat. They left the surviving villagers in the Great Hall, huddled under blankets with bowls of soup in their hands, wailing or mourning or creating new stock from the salt of their tears. It was too miserable to stay in that cavernous space where lamentation bounced off the walls.

Almost everyone had scattered to welcome the thick fog of sleep. Alice had not. She was sitting in front of the fireplace, its low embers flickering red in its bed of ash, little warmth coming from the grate. She sat there silently, her face having hardened from tears.

As he arrived at the common room, Angus Finnigan took a seat beside her. He nudged his wand to the fireplace so the embers flickered to life.

"I didn't see this coming," Alice admitted.

"No," he agreed.

"I just can't believe they're dead. I keep thinking it's not their bodies and I should go back to check."

Angus stared at the fire for a while and closed his eyes slowly. "I get it. I keep thinking my dad's just gone away somewhere and any second I'll get a letter from him. Or I'll come home and he'll be in the kitchen with my mam."

They sat there for a while longer, quiet and numb. Angus didn't try to say anything else comforting because he knew there were no other words that would work. It was odd to see a Slytherin and Gryffindor sitting huddled together in solidarity and sorrow, but somehow a restitution.

Isabella climbed through the portrait hole to find them both there. Here eyes then glanced up at the shattered and empty Sword of Gryffindor case, ominous in the dim lighting. She felt equally as hollow and jagged.

"Did you two want me to get you anything? Some soup maybe?" she asked, quite forlorn, trying to remember what people did during great tragedy. Her mother usually sent an expensive bouquet of flowers or a hearty meal that their house elves had prepared whenever an acquaintance was bereaved. She had never had any experience around death before.

Angus tilted his head back and sighed heavily.

"Only sleep will help," he said.

"Then sleep it is," Isabella said briskly.

Angus and Isabella threw Alice's arms over their shoulders and hauled her upright. She was as light as a leaf. Angus let them go once they reached the girls' dormitory stairs.

"It's unimaginable now but it will get better," he reassured them before walking back to his own dormitory.

They crept along the hallway. Even with several rooms occupied by Slytherin girls, half the bedrooms were empty. So few people had stayed behind to guard Hogwarts. Isabella gently sat Alice down on one of the empty beds, deciding they shouldn't disturb any of the rooms that were already occupied. Alice crawled under the sheets. Stupidly, Isabella wished the dungeons weren't flooded so she could get her metal bed warmer but this was absurd—if the dungeons hadn't been flooded, that would have meant the KoboldKönige has never gotten into the school in the first place.

It was too dark to make out Alice's face, but her voice was quiet.

"Where do you think Rose, Scorpius and Albus went?" she asked.

Isabella paused for a moment, wondering if Scorpius or Rose had ever mentioned a plan to her. She pulled back the quilts and snuck into the bed beside Alice, her cold feet brushing along the other girl's bare legs. She wrapped an arm around her protectively.

"I think," Isabella said, feigning confidence, "that they're going after Romnuk. In fact, I know Rose will. Rose is hell-bent on killing him."

"Good," Alice whispered softly. "I want him dead."

* * *

"You will spare me?" Romnuk repeated, dubious. The words hardly escaped the harshness of his throat. The very fact he was saying them out loud was humiliating.

As if to make a point, both Scorpius and Rose lowered their wands.

They could see him thinking frantically, trying to work out how this was a trap.

"I loathe you," Rose said, her voice even. "But I don't want to see any more people die. If you strike a deal with us, we will guarantee our protection by helping you become king."

"How?"

"We will give you the Sword of Gryffindor," Albus replied, performing the final charm on Romnuk's hand. He did not know how to regrow bone, but he had healed the stump so it would no longer bleed. It was enough to keep Romnuk alive and he seemed aware that this was a part of their peace offering.

"But first, we need to know what happened to your sister," Scorpius said. "Is she dead?"

"No," Romnuk grunted. "She is still the greatest metal smith alive. She mines fine minerals and then crafts weapons for our army with the other slaves."

"So she's a slave?" Rose confirmed.

"You will need to kill her after you kill your brother," Scorpius said.

Romnuk grew uneasy again.

"I don't care if she's your greatest metal smith," Scorpius said impatiently. "She is a symbol of further uprisings—we never want this to happen again."

Whether he liked what they were saying or not, he knew they were right. He had no other options. They had killed the Kobold Könige and they still had the Sword. If he refused, he did not imagine he would get out of this glade alive. His chances of escape were slim, and even if it were possible to get past them, he had no place left to turn.

It was all or nothing.

"I want the Sword now."

"You will get the sword only when we get our treaty."

"Then how will I kill my brother—"

"With your mallet. With poison. However you want to kill him. We will even help you," Rose said. "But you only get the Sword when we get the treaty."

They could see him slotting together the pieces of his plan. He would take them to the Goblin Kingdom. Romnuk would find a way to dispose of his brother. Then, as King, he would grant these three young humans immunity and sign their treaty. With his sister then dead and no threat that the wizards would ever attack in retribution—they were too weak at this point for that to be an immediate concern—he would not need Morgana as a metal-smith. He truly would have won.

"You have my word," he finally decided, nodding at them.

But the three young humans were not looking at him. Their eyes darted above his head, searching the trees bordering the clearing. They immediately pointed their wands and Romnuk turned, clutching his mallet clumsily in his left hand.

A barrage of arrows arced suddenly through the trees and with only a moment's notice, Albus flung up a protective charm. The arrows clattered off it and fell to the forest floor. He didn't remove the charm, although it flickered precariously.

A herd of male centaurs emerged, their bows still in hand. They were furious, pawing the ground and snorting in derision.

"How dare you!" their leader roared, tossing his head. "You come here, to our ancestral cemetery, where our chieftess rests, and you bring this—" he snorted, rearing up on his hind legs again, "—this _monster._ "

Romnuk snarled, raising his mallet. Logically, he knew he stood no chance against the centaurs. If the three young wand bearers left him, he would not survive their retribution. Still, he felt no fear.

"How can you harm us in the light of the Refuge Tree?" Rose said quickly.

"The tree belongs to _our_ herd," another centaur scowled. "She will cast her protection on us, always. You are our enemies."

"No!" Albus insisted. "We don't want to bring you any harm—"

The centaurs roared in response once more, galloping forward and stomping at the soil.

"You have brought us calamity! We will slaughter you and let your blood feed our forest—you, who burned her to the ground! We heard you—you will work with this goblin. Traitorous beasts!"

They were beginning to back away now. Scorpius also raised his wand, adding a second Shield Charm around them. The light of the tree pulsed in the air. Albus grabbed hold of Romnuk and dragged him back with him. They were still too close to the school's boundaries to Apparate. They needed to run.

"But don't you see?" Rose pleaded, stalling for time. "This is a part of your prophecy—"

"There is no prophecy!" their leader roared. "Such arrogant humans! The stars do forecast the future. For centuries we have know that the descendants of former enemies will unite against a new adversary—you have taken it into your own hands!"

While this assertion would have cause Rose to puzzle, she didn't have time to think about it. Instead she called, " _Now!"_ and raised her wand as the two boys' lowered an awful sucking sound, the soil around the base of the tree turned to a sticky mulch, startling the Centaurs backwards. They tried to charge forward but started to sink deeper into the soil, as if caught in quicksand.

They turned to run but Rose felt something seize her legs and fell backwards with a sharp knock to her head. He head spun for a moment and she wasn't sure what had happened until something thick and rough slithered over her torso and pushed her into the soil.

The Refuge Tree had come to life. Its thick roots were writhing across the forest floor like tentacles. Romnuk had harmed the Centaurs and the tree was protecting its herd.

Before she had a chance to even cry out, Romnuk stood above her and raised his mallet in his left hand. She closed her eyes tightly, picturing the way he had brought it down mercilessly on Meredith's skinny legs. But she didn't feel her bones crack. Instead, she felt the weight of the roots slithering away. Romnuk hacked at them again until she was free then dragged her upright.

Rose spared a look over her shoulder. The roots of the tree had wound around the Centaurs and were pulling them out of the thick quicksand pit. Soon, they would also be free. They needed to move.

"Rose!" Albus yelled. "Let's go!"

They turned and began to run.

As soon as they left the glade they were plunged into darkness again. Their wand lights dizzyingly pointed towards the thick carpet of leaves and fallen branches, trying to watch their steps as they ran towards the edge of the forest. The mountains acted as their compass, drawing them further from the school. They could hear the centaurs charging after them, their hooves slamming the ground as they sprinted.

"Wait!" Scorpius yelled, but a beat too slow. A loud pop split the air and Albus shrieked in agony. They skidded to a stop, wands pointing down to shine a spotlight on blood and torn jeans and brightly spotted mushrooms in the dirt, some the size of their palms.

"This whole path is filled with Bursting Mushrooms," Scorpius said, pointing his wand onwards. "We need to find another way. Al, how's your leg?"

The centaurs were still stampeding closer. Tears streaked down Albus' faces but he nodded quickly. "I can walk on it," he said, breathing hard. "I don't think I trod on one directly."

But they wouldn't be able to out run the centaurs now. Not with Albus' leg bleeding.

"I have an idea," Rose said. "Get behind these trees."

They extinguished their wands. Their eyes adjusted to the dark slowly, so that the shadowy outline of the trees took shape. They held their breath as the centaurs came upon them, snorting hard and padded throughout the trees searchingly. They were only feet away. And then, when Rose was sure they stood on the same path they had just taken cover from, she aimed her wand at the ground and silently cast a Blasting Curse.

Like a row of landmines, the mushrooms began to pop and explode. Pained whinnies wracked the air and the centaurs stamped away, yelling out to the herd that was following them to go a different way. When the air became still again, the herd's voices echoing now from the distance, Rose wrapped an arm around Albus and they continued towards the mountains as quickly as they could, Scorpius and Romnuk behind them. Albus' breath was strained, whistling from behind clenched teeth.

"We're almost there," she persisted. But it felt as if they had been limping along for an eternity. Albus came to a halt.

"The Mushrooms are poisonous," Scorpius said, leaning down to check purulent wounds on her cousin's leg.

"I don't think I can Apparate," Albus added through gritted teeth.

They could see the tree-line thinning. They were outside of the school's boundaries.

"I'll side-alone Apparate with you," Rose said, feeling the panic beginning to flutter. "Scorpius— you can take Romnuk."

"Rose—" he said, his voice high. "I've never been able to Apparate—"

"You can _do this_ ," she insisted, labouring under Albus' weight.

"No, Rose! I _can't_."

She froze for a moment, her brain turning sluggishly as she supported Albus' weight. It all seemed impossible now—impossibly far, impossibly dangerous. She turned to Romnuk resentfully.

"How do we get to the Goblin Kingdom? Where is it?"

"Trolltunga," he panted.

"What?"

"Norway," he said, his brow creasing as he squinted in the beam of her wand. "In Norway."

Rose would never be able to Apparate them to Norway. It wasn't just the distance either—it was not possible to Apparate over another country's borders, she was certain. Not without a Ministry permit. Even if she had tried, she might very well end up in the sea between their two coastlines.

She tried to picture a map of Scottland in her mind. The peak of the mainland pointed up towards Norway over a huge body of blue as the North Sea and Norwegian Sea met somewhere in the middle. She tried to hold the vision in her mind but the shape seemed murky. All that mattered was that she visualised the place with complete focus.

"Grab hold of me," she said, her throat feeling tight. "All of you."

She was still supporting Albus, his weight becoming heavier by the minute. Scorpius wrapped an arm around her waist and Romnuk offered her his stump of a hand—she resisted the urged to shrink away from him, instead gripping it tightly. Before she even turned, she could feel their weight anchoring her behind. She focused as hard as she could on the tip of Scotland and allowed herself to be swallowed into the disturbing lurch of time and space.

* * *

As soon as they hit the ground, she knew something hadn't gone right. There was a cry of pain behind her. There was no light other than the dim twinkle of the stars. She grappled to check that her mother's handbag was strapped across her torso and that she still gripped her wand. After ascertaining these two most important facts, she stumbled to her feet.

The North Sea frothed in the darkness, crashing distantly against the cliffs. The air was frigid and cold, whipping her hair around her face and eyes. Hoping that their location was remote enough that no muggles would spot them, she raised her wand high.

" _Lumos Maxima,"_ she said, flinging the light around them so it transformed into several hovering orbs. They all adjusted to the brightness.

The skin of Albus leg had purpled and bubbled, swelling rapidly. His face was ashen. Rose was opening the handbag to retrieve an antidote when Romnuk grunted behind her.

"You better deal with him first."

Rose turned and felt as if she had Apparated again, although she certainly hadn't moved. Her stomach had lurched in the most unpleasant way, as if it had tumbled out of her and hit the ground below. Scorpius was on his side, gasping in agony. His ash blond hair and pale skin gleamed slick scarlet. For a moment, she thought perhaps Romnuk had hacked into his face but the hammer was several feet away hidden in long grass.

"He's been splinched," Albus said through gritted teeth.

She stood there, her ears ringing.

The side of Scorpius' face was missing. His ear was gone. She could see the teeth and bone sitting behind his exposed mandible. Blood drenched the collar of his shirt, soaking it red.

"Give me the bag, Rose."

She handed Albus the beaded bag. He stuck his wand into the opening of the purse and Summoned a small bottle of Deflating Draught, which he quickly sculled. He threw the bottle aside and dragged himself over to Scorpius' body, tilting his bloody face toward him. Scorpius screamed out in pain. The sound was engulfed by the wind.

"Can-can you fix it?" Rose gasped, blinking back tears.

Albus ran his wand over Scorpius' jaw. The deep, spiralling wounds around his ear and skull began to close. Rose could see his exposed muscles twitching as new skin began to extend. It was as if someone had scooped his flesh away cleanly like ice-cream. His face had turned ghostly white in the spectral light and he seemed close to fainting.

"I don't think he's lost any bones. Get me essence of dittany."

Rose retrieved the second phial with a Summoning Charm. She uncorked it and handed it to Albus.

"What else can I do?" she asked desperately.

Albus didn't look up at her but gestured with his head towards his leg. "Can you syphon the poison out?"

The wind roared, buffeting them in great flurries. Rose dropped to her knees beside Albus. The swelling of his leg had gone down considerably since he had consumed the potion, yet the purple boils still bloomed along his skin. Rose poked her wand against each boil until it burst. Then, she syphoned the thick pus from the boils. It must have been incredibly painful, but Albus continued to work through a grimace.

Even after everything had gone wrong when she tried to drown Romnuk, she had still felt invincible. Her belief in the prophecy made her think that she would get to the Goblin Kingdom no matter what happened. But confronted with yet another sobering grievance, she remembered the centaur's cruel words—that the prophecy was not about them at all. That they were not somehow chosen to do this—that they were vulnerable.

"Romnuk," Albus barked, not looking up from his friend's face. "Go ahead and see if there's anywhere we can get shelter."

Romnuk was subdued. Rose didn't want to deal with him while a crisis unfolded. The fact he had saved her life back in the centaur's glade made her head swim. She still loathed him.

"I cannot see in the dark," Romnuk grunted. It was another embarrassing reminder that he had no idea how to use the wand in his belt.

Despite trembling from the shock, Rose conjured a glass jar and conjured her blue flames. She handed it over to Romnuk and pointed him out towards the direction of the sea. He blinked at them uneasily, his dark beetle eyes giving nothing away. Then he turned and began to trudge towards the sound of the sea. He had to leave the hammer behind, unable to carry both his weapon and the jar with his single hand.

Scorpius' milky skin had turned a sickly grey. She fished for the bag again, using her wand to Summon a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion. They were going through almost their entire potion inventory but Rose didn't care. She shuffled around and raised Scorpius' head so it rested on her thighs. With trembling fingers, she unstoppered the phial and tilted Scorpius' head back, tipping the potion down his throat.

"Damn it," Albus muttered as Scorpius choked down the potion.

"What?"

He gave Rose a sharp side-long glance. "It's just—when he opened his mouth I've realised he's lost a lot of his tongue, too."

"His _tongue_?"

"It's alright," Albus said quickly. "His skull is in tact. No bone missing."

"This is my fault."

"Shut up," he retorted. "That isn't going to help us."

She clutched Scorpius' hand tightly between her hands, his skin clammy and cold. His eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes batting like moths wings. The right side of his face was a raw butcher's mess but his eyes were still clear and grey.

"Hey," she gasped, tears spilling over from her eyes again. She clutched his hand more tightly. "You're okay. You'll be fine. I'm so sorry. Albus is fixing you up now."

But she didn't believe it until Albus said it himself. "He'll be alright. He just lost a lot of blood. He'll need to rest. We need to get somewhere sheltered."

The wind continued to whistle and whip fiercely against their hair and clothes, snapping the fabric like flags of valediction. Rose tried to shelter Scorpius with her body, crouching over him. Whatever warmth was left leeched away.

They saw Romnuk returning, the bobbing blue flames casting a little corona of light around his grizzly complexion. He nodded back where he had come from.

"There is an empty building up ahead," he said.

Rose never thought she would be relieved to see Romnuk the Rough in all her life.

"Help me lift Scorpius," she said. To her surprise, he complied.

* * *

The howl of the wind whistled beneath the door of Duncansby Head lighthouse. They were boiling one of the cans of soup bought earlier that day from the supermarket. The creamy smell of vegetables was almost worth salivating over. The three teenagers and one goblin huddled around the magical fire, which flickered in the otherwise cool and draughty building.

As the lighthouse was fully automated, theotiosemechanics sat like relics. Occasionally they clinked in the currents of cool air, setting them all on edge.

"We should take turns sleeping," Rose said after they had finished their soup. The other three looked dreadful. Both Scorpius and Romnuk were healing from their injuries. Albus' leg was almost back to normal but was still looking discoloured and enflamed.

Rose was finding it impossible to look at Scorpius. Every time he tried to catch her eye she quickly busied herself with the fire or the food. His parlour was still bleached from the blood-loss and he had a thick rag, drenched in dittany essence, carefully bandaged around the right side of his face. If she looked at him, he would see the horror in her expression and she couldn't bare him to read that look.

"Sleep," she insisted. She Summoned sleeping bags from her mother's purse. The wind continued to beat the lighthouse, rattling the windows with vehemence and the fire was not enough to keep them warm.

Scorpius was watching her but she didn't return the gaze, despite feeling its weight. She could tell he desperately wanted to say something but he couldn't speak with so much of his tongue splinched. After a while, he turned away from her and slid into his sleeping bag.

Rose removed herself from the group and sat at the door with her wand in her hand. She nodded off more than once, jerking awake drowsily each time.

The others remained asleep. Romnuk was furthest away. Curled up on his side, his mallet beside him. He had wrapped an arm around it, the way a child may wrap an arm around a toy. He was utterly vulnerable. Rose could slit his throat now without any resistance. It would be so easy.

She nodded off again, her chin drooping to her chest and this time she slept. There was no telling for how long or how deeply. The wind still howled and she heard it in her dreams but at times it sounded like a scream—almost like Meredith's scream as a hammer crunched down on bones. It howled the way she had howled in the Prefect's Bathroom, washing blood off her back.

Sensing someone close to her, she jerked awake and raised her wand. Albus crouched next to her, his face tense and shoulders bunched. She could see the sleep in his eyes from the light of the blue fire in the jar beside her.

She sighed in relief and cast a look over his shoulder. Romnuk still slept.

"No one is chasing us, Rose," Albus said quietly. "There's no reason to keep watch."

She didn't say anything at first. Instead, she twirled her wand between her hands.

Albus nodded slowly, then clucked his tongue once. Softly.

"You're worried to sleep beside Romnuk."

"I don't trust him," she whispered fiercely.

Albus nodded generously, as if to say _of course_. He leaned against the doorframe opposite her so they faced one another. He rubbed his eyes and stretched out his leg gingerly. Rose cringed as he prodded some of the deflated boils.

He had been an absolute hero amid it all. Not once did he lose his cool while healing Scorpius' wounds, not even when she had to extol the poison from his leg.

"C'mon, it's not that bad. Imagine if he had splinched his whole head," Albus jested.

For the first time since they got into the lighthouse Rose was able to look at Scorpius. He had lost his ear, tongue and jaw because of her. She hadn't been able to carry their weight.

"It's not your fault," Albus said firmly. "Don't blame yourself."

"I shouldn't have tried Apparating with three other people."

"You didn't have a choice."

Rose could feel tears glistening in her eyes. What she would have given to be back in that supermarket, dancing beside the can foods with him.

"I don't want to try regrowing his tongue just yet," Albus said. "I did an alright job patching his face but he'll need a few days to recover."

"Do you think it can be done? Regrow his tongue, I mean?"

Albus was silent for a moment. He stared over at Scorpius. Rose hadn't had a proper look at her boyfriend's face before Albus had bandaged it. She didn't know what was under there.

"Tongue and mouth injuries bleed a lot because of how much blood supply that area gets," Albus said slowly, winding around the question. "Generally, head injuries are quite dangerous for that reason. He had already lost too much blood so the best option was to just seal the wound on his tongue so I could fix his face."

"But you can regrow it?"

Albus turned back to her. His face was pale.

"I've never tried to regrow a tongue, Rose."

She didn't respond. It was not the answer she wanted. His tone was so sharp she was worried he would snap at her. However, after reading the look on her face, he sighed heavily and relented.

"I've only practiced re-growing skin and muscles. I can definitely regrow his ear," he became thoughtful now. She could tell he was visualising exactly how to perform the magic. "It's just cartridge and he didn't lose much of it. His tongue is more complicated. I'd have to sever it again to be able to reproduce the nerves and I don't want to risk him losing more blood. And I also don't know if I can do it."

Several selfish thoughts rushed through Rose's head. The first was that she needed Scorpius to have a tongue, for how could they ever kiss properly without it? It was such an absurd thing to think that she flushed at the thought. Then, even worst than this initial intrusion was _he's the one with the plan_.

Scorpius had briefly explained how the Stone would be used. Yet, due to his usual haughtiness, he had insisted that he didn't need to go into details. When the time came, he would instruct them further. Now, without any capacity to share the details of his plan, he was leaving a great deal of their fate up to Rose and Albus.

Then, of course, she felt guilty again. He had almost died. He was disfigured and weakened. It was her fault.

But she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on that guilt. She placed the blame on Romnuk instead. It was his fault that the village and forest had been razed, that the centaurs had attacked, and it was his added weight that had caused their splinching disaster. Romnuk was responsible for the growing number of people she cared about who had been maimed, injured or killed.

Albus reached across the doorframe and took her arm tightly in his. He knew that she was spiralling and his expression simple read: _don't._

"I'll keep an eye on Romnuk," he said, settling in now with his wand. "Get a few hours of sleep."

Rose leaned forward to hug Albus tightly. He still smelt strongly of smoke, a deep woody scent that seared her nose. At least it concealed the smarting smell of earthy dittany and metallic blood.

She crawled over to where Scorpius was curled up beneath his blanket and tucked herself against him, wrapping an arm gently around him as to be sure that she didn't wake him. She felt the pulse of his heart through his body and drifted off content that he was alive.

Still, she kept dreaming that Romnuk was standing over her with his hammer raised, ready to strike.

* * *

Morning turned the clouds a warm pink as seagulls swooped and dipped in the cool current of eddies. Rose stood on the edge of the steep cliff. The North Sea stretched towards the horizon, steel grey chop churning below. They would somehow need to cross that body of water to get to Norway.

In all their preparations before leaving Hogwarts, Rose had never once thought about where the Goblin Kingdom was or how they were supposed to get there.

She trudged back to the lighthouse, the wind tugging on her red hair.

Romnuk was tending to a can of muggle beans over their magical fire. Albus was kneeling over Scorpius. He had lifted the bandage over Scorpius' face but was crouched in such a way that blocked Rose's view of the injuries. She moved around to see but Albus had already lowered the bandage again.

"How're you feeling?" Rose asked tenderly.

Scorpius made a muted, moaning sound.

"I've regrown his ear," Albus said, doing his best to sound chipper. "He needs rest and food. Ideally, some red meat after all that blood loss."

"I can set traps," Romnuk suggested, turning from the beans. He smiled coldly.

Rose stared into his beady eyes. The lines around his brows were creased and scissored with faint blue tattoos, like the grid on a map. He was toying with her, waiting for her permission but knowing that she really had no choice but to agree. They needed him more than they wanted to admit. He was their way to the Goblin Kingdom.

Rose nodded once, curtly. Romnuk stood and took to the crates and old fishing lines that were piled up in the corner of the lighthouse and began to sift through the debris.

Things were grim. Scorpius did not look good at all. The bandage covering the right side of his face smelt strongly of dittany. His palour was still ashen and she was afraid of what his face looked like under dressings. They may be stuck here longer than they anticipated. Rose took out her wand and set about casting Muggle-repelling enchantments on the lighthouse, kicking herself that she hadn't already done this. Scorpius would have remembered to, if he had been in any fit state.

After a breakfast of canned beans, mushed to make it easier for Scorpius to chew, they began to take stock. Albus carefully removed the potion kit from Hermione's beaded bag and began to check what was still left—they had used a number of the phials the night before, which did not bode well for the rest of the journey. Romnuk sat by the fire with a spool of clear fishing line. He held one end of the line fast between his teeth, carefully twisting strands of it together with his remaining hand to make the cordage stronger. There was a bitter taste in Rose's mouth that she couldn't seem to dislodge.

"The Goblin Kingdom is in Norway," she said.

Romnuk only grunted, not looking up from his work.

"Will it be possible to take the train?"

He did not reply, continue with the fishing line. Rose and Albus shared a look. It was important that Rose maintained her authority but pushing Romnuk felt like the wrong move. She waited for him to finish, tying the end of the line up and then picking it out of his teeth.

"No," he finally said. "The train goes under the sea through a tunnel. Once we get to Bergen, we can follow the tracks from where the tunnel emerges."

"How do we get to Bergen?"

Romnuk shrugged nonchalantly with his head. He returned to the fishing line, clearly pleased by how unhelpful he was being.

Rose sat there thinking for a moment. She leaned forward and snatched up Scorpius' nearby jacket. It was still covered in blood. She took out her wand and vanished the unwelcome reminder of the previous night. Then she carefully checked the pockets until she found the little black book.

Surely her former Slytherin council could offer some insight into what she should do next. She discretely pocketed it and her wand.

"I'm going to head into the nearest town," she said. "There must be a library or tourist place or something where I can ask for ways to get to Norway. Will you three be alright on your own?"

She hated leaving Albus alone with Romnuk when Scorpius was so weak. But then, it was Albus who had reclaimed the Sword of Gryffindor. And it was Albus who had healed both Romnuk and Scorpius. He was more capable than she gave him credit for.

He seemed to be reading the worry on her face. He flicked his wand and Summoned Scorpius' brassy gold mirror.

"Take the mirror," Albus suggested. "In case you need me."

Rose set off for the nearest town, even though she had no idea where the nearest town was. She snuck out of the lighthouse and began to walk away from the cliff side. As she did, she noticed a group of muggles standing by a sign with a historic commentary of the lighthouse's significance. She was flooded by relief that she had placed all sorts of charms on their hiding spot—the muggles wouldn't be able to get past that sign without being hit by a sense of confusion and the sudden urge to return home.

She thought about trying to skirt away when an idea struck her. She approached them, waving awkwardly as she did before quickly crossing her arms across her body to retain any warmth left in her.

They were a family of four. A middle aged couple—a pudgy woman with a thick woolly scarf and a tall lanky spectacled man. They reminded her of her paternal grandparents with a bit of a twinge. Their children were young teenagers, booth bleary eyes and clearly not pleased to be awake so early.

"Would you like me to take a photo of the four of you?" Rose offered kindly.

"Oh, thank you," the woman gushed, moving forward to offer a small, rectangular digital camera. Rose stood back to click a photo of them with the lighthouse behind, the sky now a pale blue.

"Lovely spot for a sunrise, isn't it?" she said as she handed the camera over.

"We do love it here," the man replied, smiling warmly. "Mind, the kids aren't pleased to be up this early."

She could tell. They looked filthy.

She wondered how she could ask them where the nearest town was without seeming completely bonkers. It had been a long time since Rose had needed to switch on the charm.

"You wouldn't happen to be heading back into town, would you?" she asked.

"We were going to get some breakfast John o' Groats," the man said. Then, following a quick look from his wife that clearly said _this young woman is all alone and shouldn't be left here_.

"Are you alright, dear? Do you need a lift?"

Rose sat between the two teenagers on the short five-minute drive back to the tiny village of John o' Groats. It was one of the smallest and most depressing towns she had ever visited. It consisted of a whitewashed one-story motel called the Seaview that featured a picnic table in the parking lot, a single shop, a few multi-coloured houses on the water and a great deal of farmland.

They dropped her at the petrol station. She waved them off with relief and then trudged up to the hotel, hoping they could at least offer her some guidance. She paused for a moment at the front door, where a plastic Christmas wreath had been hung, and wondered for a moment exactly what the date was. She had forgotten they had already entered December. So used to Christmas being a time of family arguments over who would host festivities, it had slipped her mind that it was approaching.

She rang the bell at the front desk several times but no one came to greet her. Sliding her hand into her pocket to clutch her wand, she moved over to a revolving steel stand full of tourist pamphlets. One immediately stood out to her:

 ** _John O'Groats Ferries_**

She snatched up a couple of the brochures and took another that had a map she could fold out. There was clanking somewhere far off, possibly in a kitchen beyond the doily covered dining room, so Rose slid back outside into the brisk air and sat down at the picnic table in the parking lot to consult her pamphlets.

There was simply no way to get from John o' Groats to Norway. The ferry would only take them so far as Orkney. Even if they managed to sneak on a ferry with a goblin, she would still need to travel through Scotland's Northern Isles and then further still, through empty waters, before reaching Bergen. Should she work out a way to cross their borders without the necessary documentation, Apparition over any body of water seemed unwise, especially after Scorpius was so badly injured.

Feeling as if she had hit a wall, she slid out the Serpent Bearer's little black book. She thumbed the pages thoughtfully. Scorpius had spent so much time using it, hoarding it even. She hadn't consulted that pool of voices in a while.

She poised with her pen over a blank page, considering what she would write. Oddly, she felt self conscious that the many voices in that book would judge her lack of wile and creativity. Taking a breath, she wrote:

 _I am stuck at the top of Scotland and need to get to Norway. I don't have an international permit to Apparate. I don't have a broom. I need suggestions._

She sat there waiting for a moment as the ink was absorbed into the page. There was quite a long pause before anything appeared on the page.

 _Why are you trying to get to Norway?_

Rose clicked her pen restlessly. Was it strange to receive a question in return for her question?

A second line in a very different set of handwriting appeared: _Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?_

She pursed her lips, thinking miserably of Scorpius' mangled face and the murderous goblin they had promised the Sword of Gryffindor to and the Centaurs that had chased them down and wondered how she could ever explain their situation to a sentient book of esteemed Slytherins.

 _I need suggestions, not an inquisition,_ she wrote.

She waited impatiently for a response, clicking her pen again. Half a minute passed without a response and she wondered if perhaps her consuls would refuse to respond. As the desperation began to give way to panic, looping script appeared across the page, unspooling like spider-web. At first, she could not decipher it for it so closely resembled runes. Yet the magic of the book triumphed and the ink began to move around the page to reassemble into sentences she could understand.

 _You are best to visit the Selkies of Orkney, gentle creatures who will offer safe passage through the Northern Isles. You will be able to speak with them only on the solstice. This is where they shed their skins and join man on land._

The cold was pricking Rose's face and turning her fingers to ice. She fumbled to write but everything she attempted was illiterate. With deep breaths, she steadied herself.

 _How do I find them?_

She waited with bated breath as the words unscrambled once more into discernable text.

 _You will find them on the shores of Dingieshowe. They are the friends of Merlin and will proffer aid._

* * *

Albus gently pulled back the bandages wrapping the right side of Scorpius' face. Their potion supplies were scarce and he was conscious of the unquantifiable unknown that crouched ahead. If he used the rest of their healing balms now, what would happen if they desperately needed them on the journey to the Goblin Kingdom? This logic felt callous when he could see that Scorpius was still in pain and not healing as quickly as he would have hoped.

Albus decided to leave the potions. He would go over the wounds with another healing incantation instead. Best to play it safe.

Not for the first time since their arrival, Albus was quietly grateful that there weren't any mirrored surfaces in the lighthouse. Scorpius has always had delicate almost effeminate features. His sharp nose, cherub lips. Now his lip pulled into a twisted and scarred grimace to one side. His jaw was no longer gruesomely exposed, but should he open his mouth, most of his tongue was missing.

"You might want to try talking," Albus suggested.

Scorpius' grey eyes were flat. He was not usually verbose, no. If it had been Rose forced into silence she would have lost her mind. She had no control when it came to communicating, speaking without filter. Still, not being able to contribute to their plans was hurting him. He resented being voiceless.

"Just try."

Scorpius sighed and tried to speak. It was almost speech, a sort of muted and muffled version of speech where consonance and vowels were smothered against the roof of his mouth. He might've said _I eat robes, aching so long_ or _rye is hose making so gong._

"She'll be on her way back soon," Albus replied, knowing that the only thing Scorpius was concerned about in that moment was that Rose had been missing for almost the entire day. "If there was an emergency, she'd contact us with the mirror."

Albus wasn't worried - they had survived much, much worse than any danger a small muggle village could pose. Rose didn't have a watch on her. She probably had lost track of the time. Whatever the case, he hoped she would return with inspiration and a way to get to Norway.

Scorpius pointed at his tongue. The impatience in his gesture conveyed his message without words.

"I'm sorry, I can't regrow your tongue. I'd need to cut what's left of it off to regrow it properly and I've never done that before. Too much of a gamble, mate."

Scorpius turned away in frustration. Albus assumed that this reaction was due to his inability to restore the injuries, but Scorpius was more annoyed that he couldn't quip back, "all you lot ever do is gamble, couldn't you give it a go?"

Instead, Scorpius picked up the bandages and scoured them clean with his wand. There was no more potion to soak over his wounds so no need to reapply the dressings. He considered wrapping his head again, like an Egyptian mummy, merely to hide his face from Rose. He couldn't stand the look of guilt that oozed from her. He didn't care that his face was scarred - it didn't matter and those sorts of things could be fixed down the track by an experienced Healer. It wasn't as if he had cursed wounds. He was frustrated that he couldn't tell her to stop fretting, to get on with things. They needed to get to Norway as quickly as possible, while they still had the momentum.

The door opened and the two men turned in expectation, but it wasn't Rose. Romnuk stood framed by the wide doorway, holding a skinned hare by the ears.

"Traps worked a treat, as you say. We have dinner."

Behind him, they could see it was beginning to get dark. Clouds were brewing and with both nightfall and a storm approaching, Scorpius grew more agitated.

He nodded towards the door as Romnuk shut it behind him.

"I did not see her," Romnuk grunted. He limped over to them both. "Best to roast this."

It was lucky that Scorpius' non-verbal magic was so advanced. He started a fire easily and set the rabbit over it on a thin rod. The smell of the cooking meat filled the cold lighthouse with warmth. Above, the automated light whirled to life. It began to project its penetrating beam out across the steely wave. The rain had set in, coming down hard and cold.

The door banged open, the wind suddenly shrill as it whipped through the room. Rose wrenched the door shut behind her. She was using her wand as an umbrella and extinguished the charm with a flourish. Still, she was bedraggled and damp. Her face was pink and her nails blue.

"I think it might snow," she said. Strangely, she was holding a large suitcase in her hand as if she was about to head away on a holiday.

"What've you got there?" Albus frowned.

She held it up. "Stole it."

The hare was ready. They left Romnuk to carefully serve it. Rose was busy unzipping the suitcase. It was almost empty inside—Rose reassured them she had stolen it from the shed of a farm and it had mostly been filled with cobwebs. The only things in it seemed to have been collated by Rose that day; a collection of pamphlets and a map.

"Once I thought up the plan, the suitcase was hard to find."

"And what's the plan?"

Rose steadied herself. She shuffled closer to the fire and gratefully accepted some of the shredded meat from the hare. She avoided looking at them all.

"There's a ferry we can take to Kirwall. From there, it's not a long walk to Dingieshowe beach _._ We'll meet some selkies there who will give us passage across to Bergen."

Scorpius shook his head slowly. Albus was the only one who could verbalise their disbelief, so he did. "Selkies?"

"Yes. We're lucky. Or maybe it's not luck, maybe it's all in the stars or whatever," she flipped her wrist in a vertical direction to dismiss the thought. "But the selkies only shed their skins during the solstice. Twice a year. The winter solstice is only four days away."

They sat in silence. She and Romnuk continued to chew on their gamey meal. The two young men did not speak. They mulled the plan over. After a minute, Scorpius gestured to Romnuk.

"I know," Rose said, nodding. "He poses a problem. How to get him onto the ferry without the muggles seeing. That's why I got the suitcase."

Romnuk's stubby fingers, pinched around the hare meat, were held halfway to his mouth. He was not amused by this suggestion. "You plan to put me into that fabric container?"

"We'll put an Undetectable Extension Charm on it so you can fit inside more comfortably."

"That's _really_ advanced magic, Rose."

"Well, lucky you're _really_ advanced at Charms," she replied.

They all stared at her. Even Romnuk was unimpressed by his role in their great escape to Norway. Even to her own ears, now that she was voicing her day's work out loud, it sounded wild and impracticable but she didn't care. No one else offered a solution and they needed to strike quickly, while the iron was hot, while the Goblin King had no militia and no time to rebuild. If they wasted any time, they would miss the winter solstice and their chance to cross the sea.

"We leave day after tomorrow," she said decisively.

The automated beam of the lighthouse continued its carousel twirl, revolving out over the freezing black water like a ghost gliding through the night and the four of them began to plan.

* * *

 **A/N: All you need to know about me is that I have an obsession with greenhouses and lighthouses. Enjoy my darlings! Thank you for the reviews :)**


	11. Chapter Ten

—CHAPTER TEN—

The ferry began to hum to life. The doorframes rattled. The windows vibrated. The water churned against the side of the vessel, frothing white. Albus leaned over the edge of the boat and took in a sharp, cold breath of air. It pierced his lungs like needles. Scorpius and Rose had settled inside by window seats, the suitcase at their knees. Just forty minutes on a ferry. They only needed to go unnoticed for forty minutes.

Inside, Rose was shuffling the suitcase so it sat between her knees. Her palms were slick with sweat. Romnuk was inside, in a space smaller than a closet. His hammer was in there with him.

Undetectable Extension Charms were very advanced magic but she was certain that Albus' attempt would hold long enough to survive the ferry ride.

That's what she had told Romnuk, at least, back inside the lighthouse.

"You're _certain_?" he had spat incredulously. "You expect me to get inside that box and have you zip me in there and you have never even done the spell before?"

"You don't get to fucking argue with us!" Rose has spat back, throwing the suitcase to the ground and aiming her wand at Romnuk. "You either get in voluntarily or I put a Full Body-Bind Curse on you!"

They had put the Full Body-Bind Curse on him. None of them were looking forward to opening the suitcase when they arrived at Orkney. Rose desperately wanted to throw the suitcase overboard and let him drown inside of it. There was a reason why Albus had taken charge of it.

They had found Scorpius a hoodie and had pulled it tight around the drawstrings to cover the right side of his face as much as possible. His uneven and scarred jaw could have been passed off as an injury from a car accident if anyone had asked—but of course, no one did.

The plastic Christmas tree near the canteen trembled with the vibrations of the boat. They sat amid holidaying muggles and held their breath. Forty minutes and they'd arrive at Orkney. All they needed to do was sit still and be inconspicuous for forty minutes.

* * *

The Wizarding World of Britain was silently smouldering. The action was over. The final failed insurgency of the Kobold Könige had left so much damage in its wake that it was difficult to reimagine the world.

It felt like a curtain had drawn across a stage.

Hermione remembered when she was nine years old her parents took her to see Henry IV Part 1 at The Globe. It had been a special treat. They had managed to get seats—awfully uncomfortable seats, but better than standing her mother said. What on earth possessed them to choose that particular play to take their nine year old to she never could understand. Hermione had been very bright for her age but Henry IV was odious at best.

"Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke," she murmured out loud.

The night that she had given Rose the small beaded hand-bag, she knew she was giving her permission to leave. If what they said was true and there really was a prophecy then the best she could do was make sure they were prepared.

That night, after Rose had taken the handbag, she had noticed a velvet wrapped gift left on her bed. She had unwrapped it and found a silver mirror inside, the kind often attached to hotel vanities. She had thought it strange but put it aside. There had been more pressings things on her mind and whatever cryptic messages Rose was leaving behind could be sorted out later.

It was later now, and as she had tidied up her room Hermione found a note that had been left in the bundle of velvet. In her daughter's handwriting:

 _If I need you, I'll find you here._

Immediately, Hermione realised that the mirror had been an exchange of sorts. She had given Rose the bag to prepare her to leave and Rose had given her the mirror so they could remain in touch.

"Clever girl," she said to herself.

If the history books had taught her anything, it was during this chapter that countries sowed the seeds of future wars. They had worked so hard to rebuild their world following Voldemort's fall— _she_ had personally worked to build that world—and it had lead to Gladstone and the goblins, all under the veneer of the progress she had helped create.

Stay and breathe awhile.

There was a gentle knock on the door. She was jarred from her ruminations. Since dismantling the tents, Hermione and Ron had moved into one of the unused classrooms in the school. It had been easy enough to convert to living quarters. Desks removed, beds summoned, a chest of drawers and a writing desk. They had left the chalkboard. Hermione quite liked that she could go to sleep staring at her own scribbles, the chalky web of thoughts strung out in such a way that she could doze off thinking.

"Yes?" she said, placing the mirror on the bed and crossing to writing desk.

The door opened. Bill Weasley stood there, dwarfing the small bespectacled goblin beside him. Orlick. As she said his name out loud her lip curled with revulsion, even as her tongue hit the roof of her mouth on the final syllable.

She had asked Bill to collect him for her now that the immediate drama had been dealt with. He had not even tried to run.

"Do you want me to stay?" Bill asked.

"No. Close the door behind you."

Orlick remained unperturbed as he took a seat opposite the writing desk.

Her eyes narrowed. "You betrayed us," she said slowly.

"What makes you think I did not act in our collective interests?"

Her rage reared. She did her best to simmer it.

"You gave Romnuk information so the Kobold Könige could enter Hogwarts."

"Ms Granger, if you do not mind my candour, you have a habit of presuming that you alone know best."

Now she really considered hurting him. Instead she inclined her head to grant him permission to speak and kept her lips in a thin line. If she were to open them even a millimetre, she would scream hexes.

"I did allow them to enter Hogwarts in the hope Romnuk would retrieve the Sword. With it, he would use it to kill his brother. The Goblin Kingdom would be unstable once more. Vulnerable, even. It might be our only opportunity to usurp the usurper. With the two brothers turning on one another we could kill them both."

"Your actions killed hundreds of my people!" Hermione yelled.

"I have lost _thousands_ of my people," he yelled back hoarsely. "Our entire kingdom was enslaved. Did you not want an _end_ to this?"

She stared at him with unblinking fury. Her eyes glistened. "I was an absolute idiot to trust you."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged.

"Get out."

Hermione did have a habit of always thinking she knew best.

She watched him leave. Her head pounded with fury. There was an entire world to be rebuilt now. The world outside was silent. The smoke still hung faintly over the village like a gauzy curtain.

It felt like a curtain across the stage. But this was not the end. Only an intermission.

* * *

Teddy was being attacked, ravaged. Small fingers scrabbled at his neck and tugged at the collar of his shirt until he was choking. Children were climbing all over him, giggling uncontrollably, enjoying his torment. There was one sitting on his back that kept pulling his hair, demanding he change the colour of it again. The other had wrapped his little limbs arms around Teddy's torso.

"Alright now," Teddy said loudly, standing up. The two of them clung to him like monkeys. He was out of breath. He had been entertaining them all afternoon.

The older children were sitting with Fleur and Victoire, talking in muted voices. They were trying to locate other relatives who could collect them. Grandparents. An elderly aunt, perhaps. Cousins, maybe. It was a process.

He and Victoire had volunteered for this. Hermione was in the middle of re-establishing the Ministry of Magic, a process that had reduced her to a frazzled mess, chalk under her nails and bags under her eyes. She was recruiting anyone who was eager and of age. Teddy and Victoire did not want any part in this new governance—he was particularly adamant on this after his experiences at the welfare agency and then being a spy at the Ministry. He needed a break from bureaucracy.

Instead, they were volunteering in the Order's Reunion Programme. Their particular task was reuniting orphans with other family members.

The oldest of all the children was one of Rose's Slytherin friends. Teddy recognised her because he never forgot a face. She was lean and sharp with an austere black bob and a face grown hard. She would probably be seventeen like Rose. He had heard Fleur talking about her the night before because she posed a particular problem.

"Her parents were migrants from China," Fleur had said. "She haz no other family in Britain. She iz of age but she haz only ever lived in 'Ogwarts or with her parents. Now she iz all alone."

All alone. The toddlers crawling all over Teddy hadn't comprehended what being all alone really meant. They did not understand that their parents were not coming back. Their parents would be enigmas and imagos stretching over their heads for the rest of their lives.

"Okay, that's enough," Teddy said adamantly, tipping over so the two children unbalanced and slid off him. They giggled up at him, still unfazed.

"Come on, children. Let us leave ze silly pink 'aired boy alone," Fleur said, sweeping over elegantly. Like a snake charmer, both toddlers followed her wide eyed. She picked up the girl, the smaller of the two, and balanced her on one hip. She turned to face her daughter. "I theenk you 'ave enough to go off. Try owling their families first."

Fleur handed Victoire a bundle of parchment and waved her over to Teddy. They joined hands, leaving the room together. Victoire touched his scratched neck and mouthed _ouch_.

In silence they trekked down the halls of Hogwarts. Teddy couldn't get the babbling voices of children out of his head. They saw a group of Order wizards still trying to fix the flood in the Slytherin dungeons. More of the lake was in the school than outside of it. They detoured to the West Wing and made their way upstairs, towards the Owlery.

"What's the go with Alice Lim?" he asked.

Victoire's mouth pulled to one side. "She's very stoic, isn't she? She keeps saying that she just needs some help to get her parent's finances in order and then she'll be fine. But to have no support network at seventeen is quite scary," she frowned.

Teddy nodded slowly, lost in thought. At seventeen you were a baby. His younger self would have despised that phrase but now he knew it to be true. You may be an adult in the eyes of the law but that status didn't stretch far.

They reached the Owlery. The wind slapped their cheeks until they turned rosy. At lease the smoke was finally shifting with the gale. A storm was coming.

Victoire unfurled her bundles. Inside were letters to the family members each of the children had tearfully recalled. An explanation that their sister, uncle, niece, child was now dead and would you please come and collect the little ones they left behind? It would be terrible news to receive but Victoire feared for the toddlers who could not name their relatives. As she tied Uncle Poppy's letter to a tawny owl she doubted this would be enough to find a man who likely went by a real name.

When she turned back to Teddy, his hair still a pale pink, she noticed the grim look in his eyes.

"This is hard for you, I know," she said, walking over to him and wrapping an arm around his waist. The wind still beat against them. He hadn't replied so she wanted to urge him to head back to the Castle where they could seek some shelter.

Just as she opened her mouth, he said, "Please don't hate me."

Then he stopped, lips pursed and brows furrowed, unwilling to continue. She looked up at him, waiting for further exposition. He was not forthcoming.

What terrible thing could he have done to make her hate him? How could she ever dream she could? Even in the height of his destructiveness—even when he was spiralling into an obsession that placed her and everyone else who loved him on the peripheries—she still hadn't had the heart to hate him.

"Love," Victoire said. She brushed the creases on his forehead. She smoothed them like paper. "What is it?"

He sighed. "I don't think I want to have children."

She was puzzled by this. "But you love children."

He shrugged dismissively and rubbed his pink nose.

"All you ever used to talk about was making beautiful Veela werewolf babies with me," Victoire continued, keeping her tone playful.

"I'm not saying they wouldn't be beautiful—"

"Don't let this war make you cynical," she said, leaning up to hold his face in between her hands. He huffed and squirmed but she held him fast. "Hm? Don't let all this death turn you off life. It's still a beautiful thing, Teddy. Getting to reunite these families is a beautiful thing."

"You wouldn't understand."

"So help me to."

He considered explaining that his father hadn't wanted him; that he had walked out on his mother when she was pregnant. He wanted to explain what it was like to grow up as an orphan—a loved orphan, but parentless because of a squandered sacrifice. He had no blueprint to follow, no model to replicate. He did not know how to be a parent. He did not even know how to parent his own inner child. All he had inherited from his parents was the hapless desire to give everything he had to some great big cause.

Victoire would never understand any of this, even if he knew how to articulate it. She had grown up in the most conventional and loving family unit he had ever seen. It was unremarkable to her and he had envied her more than he cared to admit.

"It's alright," he decided, brushing her off. "It is what it is."

* * *

They had been in Australia for less than a day and Ron was already pretty badly sunburnt. His skin was turning an angry pink that clashed brilliantly with his hair. Harry was fairing slightly better because he had headed Hermione's instance that they wear sunblock, which Ron called 'a sorry excuse for a muggle potion.'

"I think the Prime Minister thought I was a bloody beetroot," Run muttered, wiping the sweat from his head. It was cooler in the Ministry, but only just.

It didn't matter whether he thought Ron looked like a beetroot or not. They had gotten what they came for. A signature on the bottom of a piece of parchment agreeing to England's terms for a voluntary repatriation programme. It would be in tomorrow's papers here and despite the fact Ron gave the reporters all the quotes they would no doubt be attributed to Harry by virtue of the scar on his head.

"I bloody hate Australia," Run muttered as they clacked down the marble stairs, heading towards the elevator. He punched the button. "Remind me of when I came here with Hermione to get her parents after the war. She was distraught."

"Yeah," Harry said nodding. He had not accompanied his two closest friends on that journey. Hermione had left less than a week after the Battle of Hogwarts to find her parents and Ron had dutifully volunteered to go with her—insisted, in fact—despite the fact it had only been a couple of days since his brother's funeral.

Harry had been a mess, he remembered. He had sat inside his bedroom in the Gryffindor tower and cried inconsolably, sometimes for days. After Tom Riddle was dead, cremated so there was no longer a trace of him, the relief he had felt was chased away by his grief. Ginny had stayed with him, equally wrecked. Hogwarts was a ruin and Ginny kept saying, _how am I supposed to come back next year to finish school?_ and _how can Fred be dead?_

"It's weird being back here," Ron said as they stepped into the elevator. "Just like last time. Leaving Hogwarts behind smouldering."

They arrived at the Department of Immigration and Naturalisation and waited patiently before the witch at the administrative desk, a long grey emu quill hovering in the air beside her. She didn't look up at them.

"Take a seat," she said. "The Minister will be out shortly."

They did as they were told. Ron crossed and then uncrossed his long legs.

"Do you reckon the Prime Minister was right?" he asked.

Harry made a sound to indicate that he wasn't sure. The Australian Prime Minister for Magic had stated that many of the refugees would refuse to voluntarily return and would try to stay incognito in Australia, which, "is simply not on," as he had put it bluntly.

"I dunno how I feel about a forced returns," Harry said.

"Yeah, me neither. But I reckon it won't be a problem. Wouldn't you be dying to come back? They weren't treated especially well here."

"Return back to a country that needs to be totally rebuilt?" Harry asked. "Mm. I think quite a few will rather stay here."

They sat in silence thinking about it. They had signed an agreement to begin first with voluntary repatriation and then to manage those who were refusing to participate in the programme or were going underground. Harry dug around in his pocket and withdrew a flask engraved with a snitch. He took a couple of gulps and then passed it to Ron, who sniffed and then sipped it.

The most civilized way to deal with it was for the British Ministry to offer gold for those who were refusing to return home as an incentive to begin again, especially after properties or businesses had been destroyed. Of course, there was currently no real Ministry and no real money to draw from but they had been instructed to play this down. These negotiations needed to go well. It was why Hermione insisted Harry go.

He had the distinct feeling Hermione was trying to get them all out of the way so she could re-structure the Ministry of Magic without their input. He wouldn't fight her on it yet, but eventually he would need to. She felt guilty that things had gone awry on their watch and wanted to fix things better than they were before. He wanted to take her aside and tell her that it wasn't their fault, it wasn't anybody's fault. It was just the way the world was. A ticking time bomb.

Run rubbed his sweaty hands down his trousers and handed back the flask. Harry took another gulp and put it away. He needed something to lather him for the negotiations. The emu quill swished through the air gracefully as it took down notes and Ron's blue eyes followed every flick and twirl.

"I'm worried about them, too, mate," Harry said.

He knew that he was thinking about the kids. All he could think about was the kids. Rose being out there somewhere, doing Godric knows what, trying to enact some revenge plot on the goblins was making him lose his hair in tufts. Harry understood the gnawing worry that they had once put Mrs Weasley through.

"Do you really reckon they'll be alright?" he asked, his voice breaking. "It's madness. We should go after them, shouldn't we?"

"They're a lot smarter than we were at their age," Harry said.

Ron opened his mouth to rebut but the Immigration Minister swept out of her office, her scarlet robes almost blindly bright in the white marble lobby.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. Thanks for waiting."

The emu quill completed its final flourish and stopped.

* * *

To keep them busy, the Order sent the older Hogwarts students down into the village to assist with its reconstruction. Now that most of the bodies had been recovered they weren't trying to keep the kids from seeing the extent of the damage. If anything, they needed the extra hands.

Hogsmeade had once been their weekend escape. All the fanciful shops and sweet stores and butterbeer were now gone.

Isabella Nott, Lucy Bird, Angus Finnigan, André Zabini and Toby Fleischer trudged through the shells of old buildings.

"This was Honeydukes," Lucy said sadly, bending down to pick up a charred chocolate frog card. It was impossible to make out the wizard in the illustration, just as it was impossible to recognise the now destroyed shopfront.

Carefully, they raised their wands and set about casting the Mending Charm. Bricks flew back into place. Beams stood upright. The roof lifted off the ground and flew over their heads. Counters and display tables assembled themselves out of the ash. The building was still charred and blackened but at least it resembled its former self. When they were done, even the blackened Honeydukes sign swung above the door.

Zabini was the only one who didn't offer to help. Instead he stood there watching the others work. His expression was dark and sullen, as if he was being forced to help. Lucy Bird was in two minds to tell him to go back up to the Castle if he wasn't being useful—but she thought better of it. Tensions were high and Zabini was the last person they wanted to pick a fight with.

They continued up the path. Toby repaired a lamppost as they past it. Their shoes were darkened by the soot by the time they reached what was left of the Three Broomsticks. A new sadness rested over them. This had been their establishment. It had been their first taste of butterbeer, their first taste of freedom. No one moved to begin repairing it. Instead they stood in a single line as if at a vigil.

"Rosmerta was confirmed dead," Zabini finally said. "I saw the body myself."

They flinched towards him to acknowledge this. Rosmerta seemed to be more a part of the pub than the fixtures of the building. She had seen generations of Hogwarts students filter in and out of their doors. It was hard to imagine that this was how she had gone.

"Is there any point fixing it if she's no longer here?" Angus frowned.

"Of course," Isabella said immediately, as if offended by the suggestion. So they set about their work. The Three Broomsticks was a lot larger than Honeydukes and a second storey needed to be re-constructed. It was complicated. They realised quickly that they were out of their depth and lowered their wands.

Their ears pricked at the sound of crunching gravel and the row of teenagers turned around. Alice Lim was approaching them. Her dark glossy hair swung across her face as she trudged through the remaining debris on the path.

"You'd think they'd have someone more qualified doing this," she said, jerking her thumb towards the buildings.

"We were going to move onto the post office," Lucy said, motioning up ahead. "It'll be a bit easier."

Alice nodded once. "I'll join you in a moment."

They continued across the street while Alice hung back. Zabini stayed with her also, leaning against the recently restored lamppost. A drizzle was setting in, spotting the ash on the ground and prickling their faces. Angus and Isabella cast furtive looks over their shoulders that Alice intercepted. Concern. She turned their backs to them intentionally. If the rain fell any harder the ground would turn to soot.

"They're organising a mass funeral I heard," Zabini said conversationally.

"Yeah."

"Your parents going to be buried here?"

Alice rubbed her nose quickly. "Yeah," she said, trying to sound matter of fact. "They're erecting a monument to all the fallen just outside the village. So I think it's best if they're buried here with the others."

Zabini nodded. Fleetingly, he wished his parents were dead. At least then it could tie up the loose ends. He pushed off the lamppost and began to walk through the shell of the Three Broomsticks, kicking aside the piles of debris to clear a path to what was left of the bar. The rain was falling harder now, in big fat drops that slid off his face. "I've been thinking for a while that I might work in a bar."

"A bar like this one?"

"Well, it's up for grabs, isn't it?" he shrugged. "Rosmerta owned the place. Don't think she had anyone to leave it to. We could probably buy it really cheap."

"We?"

"Yeah, well. Where else do you have to go? This might be perfect, mightn't it? Give us something to do, for Merlin's sake."

"The woman's body isn't even in the ground and you're trying to work out how to own the place."

Zabini wasn't phased by. He drummed his fingers against one of the bar's wooden beams. "Got to think ahead, Lim."

"Oi, Zabini!" Isabella called out, marching towards them. Her hands were crossed tightly across her chest. "Go and make yourself useful!"

Zabini rolled his eyes, as if a great imposition was being placed upon him, then turned back to Alice with a wink that suggested _think about it_. It was entirely inappropriate behaviour from Isabella's point-of-view, where she stood with her arms askew and her brows furrowed. She waited until he had passed her until she said anything.

"Was he bothering you?"

"Propositioning me," Alice replied. Her smirk did little to hide her eyes; heavy with bags, puffy from tears, sitting haggard and hard in her face like two dark stones. She looked dreadful but tough. The only time she could ever recall Alice crying was in their first or second year after the seventh-year girls had stripped them nude and made them standing in a line of prettiest to ugliest. It had been a long time since Isabella had drawn up that memory, as horrid as it was, and the picture of them all standing shivering and starkers in front of each other made her blush. Alice as skinny and flat chested as a boy.

"Don't worry," Alice sighed, misinterpreting Isabella's flushing. "He wasn't propositioning me like that. He wants us to buy the Three Broomsticks."

Isabella titled her head back to look at the charred skeleton of the building, the thin beams of the stairs like a set of crushed ribs. She reassembled the bar in her mind. The glass behind the shelves, the slick counter top, the bottles glinting in the lantern light and the chink of glasses as they knocked together. Zabini and Alice behind the bar, aprons on, taking orders and delivering drinks. Both would be dutiful attending to the patrons, faces rapt with attention and voices listing off recommendations. It was a pretty picture.

"It's not a bad idea," Isabella said.

She couldn't imagine what the future looked like for her anymore. For years, she had assumed she would work in administration for her father's company for a year or two before being set up with an eligible bachelor of her mother's choosing, date for a little while and then get engaged, where a life of leisure as a housewife and mother would follow soon after. All of that had suddenly vanished. Her parent's money had also vanished. It occurred to her that now, virtually disowned, she was in a very similar position to both Zabini and Alice. Nothing to fall back on and the future a flat horizon all around her.

"Are you worried?" Isabella asked, feeling stupid instantly as the words left her mouth.

"About?"

"Not having any family."

"Are you?" Alice returned, as if it was a game of badminton.

Isabelle prepared her racquet. "Of course. I'm sad, I'm nervous. But sort of excited nervous, you know?"

Alice shook her head. The ball dropped. Isabella served again. "I've always had the future mapped out for me, I never even had to think about it. Now the terrain has changed and I get to decide where to go. It's terrifying but sort of exciting. I feel like I'm itching to run a race and I'm just waiting for someone to yell 'go'," she said.

Alice smiled in an almost painful way. "Yeah," she said. "My parents came to England all on their own. They didn't even speak the language when they arrived. If they could be that brave, surely I could be too."

"Ambition," Isabella acknowledged. "Maybe that's the only thing that could make us brave."

They both turned to watch Zabini, who was still refusing to help. He was sulking behind the others, watching them perform the restoration works. Isabella tilted her head to one side.

"We're not alone though," she said, decisively. "We're our own little family."

Alice reached out and took her hand.

* * *

Families were being reunited after being ripped a part by war. Some only needed to cross the country. Others were separated by continents.

Molly didn't know what to expect. She had chosen to stay and her family had decided to leave. It had been a fraught decision but one she was too stubborn to shift on. Her parents submitted to the fact she was an adult (only just) and trembling with the injustice of the world, an unstoppable brew. They had Lucy to still protect and so they went their separate ways.

That Molly had travelled to them seemed strange. She felt like an unbeliever on a pilgrimage, taking a journey empty of meaning. Rowan had stood beside her on the porch, backpack on his shoulders, sandy hair stirring with the breeze like wheat in a paddock. He was stoic. The most emotion he had shown was to briefly squeeze her hand as they knocked on her grandmother's door.

Then she as being embraced, held, cried over. Molly had hardly gotten out the words, "my boyfriend," before everyone had embraced, held and cried over Rowan. Her mother, her father, her grandparents. Their quiet existence in hiding had suddenly come to an end. A whisper that ended in an exclamation point.

Then, there was Lucy. So much taller now. On the precipice of puberty. She had lost the docility that comes with small girls and looked sharper now. The round baby fat of her face had given way to a pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her eyes were sceptical and hard as they examined Molly, then she smiled cautiously. She had lost her last baby tooth. The gap was there.

Molly hugged her tightly. Yes, they would stay for lunch before heading back. Still packing that needed to be done. She didn't let go of Lucy until her little sister muttered _you're suffocating me, Molly._

Then they had a thousand questions for Rowan—how long, when, were you fighting together?—and they were dishing salad onto their plates by the time they announced the news.

"It's incredible, Molly, really. We found out a few months ago. But your sister—" here her mother sent a glowing look of pride towards Lucy, who rolled her eyes, "—is a witch!"

Molly swallowed hard around a piece of beetroot. Her throat throbbed. It allowed her to splutter for a moment with an excuse before she said, "is that true, Lucy?"

"We haven't got her a wand yet, we haven't been able to. But isn't it fantastic?"

It was good news. Under normal circumstances, Molly would have been overjoyed. She was not, however, overjoyed.

They had known for months that Lucy was not a Squib, that she was not in any real danger. In fact, since Gladstone's death she had no longer been in danger. And yet they had not returned to fight. They had remained out of the way, like fine china on the very top shelf, out of sight and unlikely to be broken.

"That's great news," Molly said. She sounded false. It was not Lucy she looked at but her parents. Rowan took her hand under the table and squeezed it as if he knew.

She felt like she was sitting around with a table of strangers. It was not the first time she had felt that way. Like she had been adopted, swapped at birth. Too wilful, too rebellious, too loyal to be their daughter. Where was their loyalty? Only to themselves.

It was not the family reunion she had been hoping for. She wasn't sure what she had imagined. They insisted that she didn't get up to help clear the table or wash the plates. So, while the others were preoccupied, she and Rowan slipped out on the porch. And following a quiet conversation, they Disapparated with a crack.

* * *

Rose leaned her head against the window. The humming pane hurt, drumming the side of her temple. She shifted to get comfortable again. She took Scorpius' long fingers and squeezed them. He turned and smiled sadly, the scar on the right side of his face partly hidden by the hoodie. She wondered what he was thinking.

(He was thinking that around this time last year, he had been at the Weasley's in a knitted Christmas jumper.)

Forced into silence by his mute condition, Rose was left alone with her thoughts. She wondered if he would have ever been in this mess if it weren't for her. She wondered if he was right when he had said that getting involved in a relationship with her would make his life complicated. All she had seemed to do was complicate his life.

He had come a long way from the stiff, awkward fifteen year old she had silently patrolled the Hogwarts Express with and surely he had changed her too. They had both changed. Back then, Rose had thought of him as an aloof, cold presence while she considered herself to be wild and breezy. He was a glacier and she was a field of sunflowers.

But that didn't ring true anymore. Scorpius had proven to have a purity of heart she never would have expected. Once he had committed to her, he was completely steadfast. Rose had been the dark presence, the dangerous presence, the one to drag them from disaster to disaster.

She linked her fingers through his and closed her eyes.

"I love you," she said quietly.

He squeezed her hand twice as if communicating in their own Morse code. She squeezed the suitcase between her legs.

The door opened with a blast of wind and then shut with a suction cup sound. Albus tousled his dark hair and joined them on the plastic seats.

"Almost at Kirkwall," he said, nodding towards the flat island approaching. "I think we should find the beach and set up camp."

"How long is the walk to Dingieshowe?" Rose asked.

Albus leaned over her and picked up one of the tourist brochures, unfolding it clumsily and then giving it a good shake to straighten it out. He analysed the map for a moment, frowning.

"A fifteen minute car ride, so, like, a three hour walk?" he laughed roughly.

"Shit," Rose muttered. "We could Apparate?"

Scorpius shook his head firmly.

"There'll be buses," Albus said. "We'll just Confund a driver."

They didn't say anything for a little while. Instead, they stared outside the window as the land got closer and closer. They would be arriving soon. Then they would be forced to drag the suitcase off the ferry. To find a bus or a bike or something that could transport them to Dingieshowe beach. They would have to set up camp. They would have to deal with Romnuk.

A part of Rose dreaded to get off the ferry. At least while they were on the ferry they were moving in a clear direction towards a clear goal. All that was required of them was that they sat there quietly. She felt sick at the thought of coming up with the next part of the plan.

What if she was wrong and there were no selkies? Or that there were selkies but they refused to help them? She didn't know a thing about selkies. What if they were dangerous? What if that little black book was filled with out-dated information and she had doomed them all?

Scorpius squeezed her hand once as if he could read the panic on her face. She wondered what he was thinking.

(This plan is sheer lunacy but you always had a way with making mad things work, he wished he could've said.)

Albus grabbed the suitcase. "We're here," he announced, getting to his feet.

Rose stared at it longingly. How much she wished it could end up overboard in the water. It was truly the sum of all her baggage.

The ferry was manoeuvring itself awkwardly beside the wharf with several stops and starts, the way you might greet a relative you're not quite fond of. They seemed to be readying themselves. The last forty minutes had been a brief reprieve, an intermission of sorts.

They knew the hardest part was coming.

* * *

 **A/N: I know this one is short but I was just finding it hard to write and wanted to pump it out and get it over with. I am going to transgress some personal rules and post Chapter 11 immediately after this. Got to get this baby done! Reviews = more motivation to write so keep reviewing! Lots of love x**


	12. Chapter Eleven

—CHAPTER ELEVEN—

The cold was a blistering, billowing thing. It came in fierce squalls that tugged invisibly at their hair and clothes like a pesky poltergeist. Once they were thoroughly wind-whipped, it then soaked through their socks and shoes to turn their feet to blocks of ice. It rarely snowed in Orkney but the wind and rain were bone-chilling. The ground had become a slippery mix of mud and bracken, making each step painstaking and dangerous. Rose hauled the suitcase behind her—she insisted even when the boys tried to take it off her or reason with her—because she knew that when Romnuk was out of the box they had placed him in that he would not be happy.

They didn't Apparate. Even suggesting it around Scorpius seemed like a bad idea. There were no buses going to the beach during winter so they did the walk on foot.

Their feet ached from the cold. They had to keep stopping to use their wands as compasses and checking against their flimsy tourist maps that they were going in the correct direction.

When they arrived at the beach, night had fallen. Rose had slipped once with the suitcase and landed hard on her hip, Albus and Scorpius twice despite how carefully they trod. Their hands, wrapped in their dragon-hide school gloves, were bruised from catching their falls. They were too numb to feel it but the stinging bruises lay in wait for when their extremities began to warm up.

The beach was empty, windswept and frigid. The water was a foreboding steel grey in the dark gloom. The sand had turned to cold concrete. They lit their wands and began to probe the island's edge. There were caves up ahead, a fair distance from the water, so they levitated the suitcase above the rock and sand to make their way to the only shelter in sight.

The three teenagers set up concealment enchantments and immediately started a fire. They were operating on pure survival instincts. After thirty minutes, the cave was beginning to feel cosy. The heat and warmth was allowing them to think logically, the chill retreating from their brains so they could feel the extent of their injuries. They had been closer to hypothermia than they had realised.

Scorpius had grown decrepit and ancient. His right jaw throbbed, his stubbed tongue rolling blindly in his mouth like a phantom limb, trying to reach the tomb cap of his front teeth. He inched himself onto the ground across from the suitcase. Albus took Rose's little bag and retrieved a pot for the fire, which he filled with water from, and began to make chamomile tea.

The pale scent of the tealeaves was a balm on the week's events. It occurred to Scorpius how remote their location was. In the damp dark of this island at the very tip of Scotland, they huddled in a cave facing the North Sea. If they died here, who would find their bodies? It may take weeks, maybe even months. No one in their right mind would visit this beach in the dead of winter.

Rose accepted a tin cup of tea from Albus and brought it over to Scorpius so that he would not have to move. She blew gently on the steam of the cup. The gesture seemed so selfless and simple that tears sprung to his eyes. She crouched down behind him and wrapped her arms around him, cradling the tea into his hands and raising them with hers so he would drink. Her body curled like a harbour behind him and he leaned back into her like a ship mooring after bad weather. Her knees curved at his thighs and his shoulder blades rested against the warmth of her chest and she leaned forward so that her chin sat perfectly on his shoulder.

Rose stroked his feathery blond hair. In the soothing gesture she said, we're done for the day. Albus was getting a can of pumpkin soup working over the fire now. The creamy smell stirred up memories that he was sure were his own; a child home sick from school being fed their favourite home remedy. Rose dropped her hand from his hair and wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands coming to rest together on his belt as if she were a human harness on an amusement park ride. This was simultaneously comforting and arousing. Her neck curved over his shoulder, her arms loosely held him, in the way that marble statues of angels embrace their mortals or the way that a mother might pull her small child into her lap. He was embarrassed by how affected he was. He took another sip of the tea to hide himself and, in his condition, it tasted like a revitalising tonic, so powerful was the heat through his throat. Some of the drink dribbled down the side of his mouth, he still not used to drinking without his tongue, and he wiped it quickly with the side of his hand. He felt like an old man.

Albus spooned the soup into four bowls. Rose stared at the last bowl over Scorpius' shoulder. Albus returned her look and sent his pointedly at the suitcase. Where they all having silent conversations now that Scorpius couldn't participate? Or did they simply dread speaking out loud what would come next?

"We need to open it," Albus finally said.

The thought filled him with dread. They were finally granted a moment of peace. Couldn't he just curl into Rose's body and sleep? As if reading his mind, Rose squeezed him tighter.

"Can't we just leave him in there?" Rose whined.

"I'll do it," Albus decided, readying himself. "But both of you should have your wands out too."

They obliged. Rose got to her feet but Scorpius remained resting against her legs. Albus pointed his wand at the suitcase so that the lid flew open. He then pointed his wand inside and said the counter-charm for the Full-Body Bind.

There were a few beats of silence. Then Romnuk launched himself out of the suitcase the way a zombie might return from the grave. They all yelped in fear, despite having anticipating it. He lunged forward, swinging his hammer in his left hand but Albus cleared him easily and sent up a Shield Charm.

"We warned you that if you didn't co-operate we'd force you to," Albus said, not even flinching.

Romnuk was speaking in furious Gobbledegook, spitting in rage.

"English," Albus requested, almost bored. "English."

"You lock me in that box unable to move—are you _crazy_? I will kill you all as you sleep!"

"You don't seem to get it," Rose said between her teeth, advancing around Scorpius with her wand in the overarm position. "You're here because we've let you live. You're here because we made a _deal_. You're _our_ hostage now!" she yelled, her voice bouncing off the rock. "If I want to bind you and remove all your fingernails, I will! If I want to break open your legs so you cannot walk and then stuff you in that suitcase, then I will! So you either learn to go along with our plans as you promised you would or I will quite happily torture you until we get to your stupid mountain."

"Rose," Albus said warningly.

"You think I will agree to your deals if you treat me like this?" Romnuk raged, his black eyes popping out of his head. "To hell with your deals!"

"You seem to forget that we're the only ones here who can work a wand," Rose replied. "I don't know why you still think you're in charge. I can easily wipe your memories and make you think whatever I want you to think."

Albus was pleasantly surprised by this suggestion and shrugged at Romnuk. "She makes a good point," he said.

Romnuk was reeling now, pushing against the protective charm and swinging his hammer in a rage.

"Calm down or we stun you and tie you up," Rose said.

"You dare—you dare to treat me like this! I will cut your throats and crush your skulls!"

There was a loud bang and a burst of red. Both Albus and Rose sprang apart. Romnuk crumpled to the ground. They were silent. Neither of them had cast the Stunning Spell. They turned towards Scorpius who lowered his wand and sent them a look that said, _what?_ And perhaps if they inferred a little more deeply the look also added as a postscript, _you were all shouting and my head hurts and Rose was right, we'll simply wipe his memories before we wake him up._

"Give Scorpius the extra bowl of soup," Rose said, gesturing to what Albus had optimistically left aside for Romnuk. "We'll tie him up just in case and then wipe his memories going back to the lighthouse."

They settled on this order of events. Albus did the Memory Charms and Rose bound Romnuk. They dragged his body towards the other end of the cave so that they wouldn't have to look at him. Their exhaustion was absolute. They needed to take it in turns to keep guard but they were all too tired. Albus pulled out their blankets and sleeping bags from inside the beaded bag and everyone settled in around the fire. Drowsy from the day, they slept almost immediately.

How different this all was from last Christmas break.

* * *

The week before Christmas, the snow was not sticking in London.

There had been days where the weather taunted them with sporadic flurries that turned to raindrops as they touched the earth. Whenever it did snow, harsh rains battered the pure powder away and turned the ground to a polluted slurry. It refused to stick. Teddy felt as if their recent calamities had so distressed the natural harmony of things that even the weather was in a state of disorder.

Teddy had found himself at the Leaky Cauldron at the beginning of that week. The old inn was being used as a space to reunite displaced families. Now that the enemy had been driven from Britain, they had lifted the protective enchantments that restricted Apparition between the village and Diagon Alley. The wall that had gone up during the siege was being disassembled.

There were four families staying upstairs in the guestrooms, having been recently reunited with the children who had lost their parents. The toddlers were still without guardians and had been placed in the care of his grandmother in a fifth guestroom upstairs. Teddy had sat with Andromeda most of the morning as they finalised the other families' kinship foster papers and discussed other ways to locate the relatives of the two small children in their care. As always, Andromeda had been calm and practical and wiry with her lop-sided compassion. She had erected a festive tree in the corner of the bar, "so that at least it will feel like Christmas, even if the weather doesn't agree," she had said, and the sight of the tree so fortified Teddy that he wanted to cry.

He now sat alone at the bar staring at the little tree and wondering what would happen to the two children upstairs. Had they asked Andromeda to handle this particular task because she knew how to manage a parentless child?

The Leaky Cauldron's door opened from the muggle passage and Teddy looked up to see who it was. To his surprise, it was his godfather. He had let his beard grow wild and it almost hid his lips completely, making it hard to tell if he were smiling or not. He was wet from the rain. The lenses of his glasses were speckled like the windows on the pub.

All the orphans seemed to be gathering here, Teddy thought.

Harry shook off his overcoat. He hadn't yet noticed Teddy by the bar. Teddy sat there immobile for a few seconds, scared to move in case he brought attention to himself. Harry had been overseas putting the repatriation programme into action with Ron. It was dignitary stuff and his godfather had always resented that sort of work. He hadn't really been himself, apparently, according to those closest to him. Not since the battle. Not since Albus and the kids had left.

When Ginny had last sat down for dinner with Teddy in the Great Hall, she had asked him a favour. Could he chat with Harry when they next saw each other? "He has a soft spot for you," she explained. "God knows he won't speak to me. He stupidly thinks he's playing the hero when he behaves this way but it drives me mental."

He was in half a mind to sneak away to continue to nurse his own thoughts.

But now that he had seen Harry properly, he understood Ginny's concerns. He did not look himself at all. Or rather, he looked like a much grizzly and gruffer version of himself.

"Hey, Harry," he said loudly to give himself away.

Harry turned to the bar. Behind his unkept beard and glasses, it was hard to make out his face. He walked over to Teddy and slapped his shoulder in greeting.

"Saw your Nan this morning," Harry said, taking a seat on the barstool beside him. "Apparently she'll be taking over from Fleur in this department."

What department was he referring to? The Department of Bereft and Bereaved Children? Teddy scratched the back of his neck, where his moon tattoo was inked, feeling it itch.

"She's upstairs," he said, because he had nothing else to offer. "Probably came straight from speaking with you."

"Saw Victoire too," Harry added.

Teddy nodded, unsure of what to say next. He felt like a child being called to the headmaster's office, not knowing whether he was in trouble or not. But Harry didn't volunteer anything further. Instead he turned towards the bar and stared at the empty shelves. Everything had been used up during the siege. He drummed his fingers on the counter.

Teddy remembered his promise to Ginny to have a chat. What exactly was he supposed to chat about? The weather? The uncharacteristic lack of snowfall? Whether Harry was spiralling?

"How was Australia?" he asked instead.

"Hot," Harry said drily. You might guess he was smirking under the beard. Then, "there are a quite a few more refugees there than we thought."

"I remember," Teddy said, because he had seen it himself. It was the most defining memory of his Honeymoon. A camp of human misery.

"A lot of them will be coming back. But a lot of them won't want to and it'll make things…messy for us." Harry began groping around in his jacket, searching the inside pockets. Only now did Teddy notice he was wearing a very nice suit. A muggle looking suit. It was in stark contrast to the rest of his appearance, as if some benevolent soul had spared the gold to dress up a homeless man.

"You're looking quite dapper," Teddy said, aiming to change the tone of the conversation. "Nice suit."

Harry snorted and took out a silver flask. He offered it to Teddy who frowned. It wasn't even midday. He shook his head and watched Harry take a few gulps. He wondered what was in it.

"Was with Hermione this morning at the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, gesturing to the suit. "That's where I bumped into your Nan. We're preparing to re-launch the Ministry or…whatever. I dunno. I told Hermione we'd need an interim Minister until proper elections can be held. And we hosted a Wizengamot meeting this morning and we all unanimously voted for her. I'm not sure if she was stressed or relieved."

He took another gulp of his flask, drinking whatever it was as if it were water. Then he tucked it back into his jacket.

Teddy massaged his temples and closed his eyes. Victoire had said she was going with her parents that morning to the Ministry but he had decided to stay behind and mind the kids. In fact, he was avoiding her. Since their conversation in the owlery she had continued to needle him on the subject. He continued to clam up. The more she wanted to talk about it the more he searched for another subject.

A part of his brain knew that he could not go on like this forever. This sort of self-sabotaging behaviour had risked his relationship once and he couldn't do it again. If he kept pushing Victoire away he knew she would off and leave. He couldn't bare that.

He wondered what the Ministry was like. Every time he imagined it, he pictured it in ruins. But he supposed it was much the same—untouched. It hadn't been destroyed in the way that the rest of Wizarding Britain had been.

"You wouldn't think of moving across to work with me on the repatriation programme?" Harry offered.

Teddy shook his head.

Harry hesitated. He looked over at the Christmas tree. "I'm not sure if where you are is the best thing for you, Teddy."

This man was so clearly in pain, so clearly wrestling with it, and _still_ he was trying to solve somebody else's problem. Teddy wondered how Harry managed it. Was it to deflect from having his own wounds tended to? Or was it easier to fix someone else than it was to fix yourself?

"I need to be where I am. I know there will be others. There are whole families in the Hospital Wing being treated for burns–more parents will die. They'll just keep _dying._ Children will just fall through the gaps."

Harry stared at Teddy for a long moment and sighed. He removed his glasses and wiped them clean. His eyes, momentarily naked, were bloodshot and tired. He returned his glasses and settled his gaze on Teddy.

"I know," he said throatily. He opened his mouth but nothing seemed to come out. He cupped Teddy's face in his hand and dug his fingers into the back of his hair, so his nails clipped his godson's scalp. He then dropped his hand heavily.

"I know you know," Teddy said, dropping his voice. He felt like an arse. "I know you get it better than anyone. At least I was raised by Nan. You were left to the Dursleys—"

Harry raised one had to silence him. "It's not a competition in human suffering."

They sat in silence for a few moments. They had both uncovered something uncomfortable that continued to writhe between them. War had taken their parents from both of them, before they could even remember it, and war continued to take parents. Different wars each time, different parents each time. It was hungry for it. It took parents and it took children. A different mouth each time but the same ravenous stomach.

"I think about it a lot, too," Harry finally said. "Not just you or me. But also about Tom Riddle stuck in a muggle orphanage not understanding the powers he had but learning quickly how to abuse them. I often wonder if things would've been different if…well, I'm not sure."

He trailed off, lost in thought.

Teddy had never thought about that, although he never had a reason to. Voldemort was almost a fictious entity to him, a villain before his time, the reason his parents had given their lives up. He never spared a thought of him as a boy in an orphanage. He wondered how often Harry thought about him. For some reason, it disturbed him. He didn't want Harry exercising empathy on him.

"Is this why you don't want to have children?" Harry asked, turning back to Teddy.

The question startled then angered him. So, he had spoken to Victoire this morning, and not just about the Ministry. Had he been sent to 'chat' with him? To check on him? She had asked favours of Harry, asked him to perform relationship espionage. Although, hadn't Ginny requested the same of Teddy?

Teddy turned the question back on Harry. "Why did _you_ have children?"

Harry didn't get defensive or angry. Instead he thought on the answer. Perhaps no one had ever asked him that question before. He fumbled around for his flask again but then stopped, as if he had arrived at his answer without needing to be protected from it.

"I really wanted children, I think, because I wanted to be a part of a happy family. I had never had that, you see," Harry explained, his fingers still tucked into his breast pocket. "Ginny and Ron had. I always envied them for it. How big their family was, how full of love they were. I wanted another one after Lily, you know," he said, smiling slightly. "Ginny said I was mad. Three was enough, she insisted. She grew up one of seven, so she apparently knew when to draw the line. And after all, she was the one pushing them out so I couldn't really argue with her."

They both laughed, grateful for the reason to break the tension. It was such an honest answer, it surprised Teddy. Although Harry had never hid from him.

"So, you finally got to be a part of a big happily family?"

Harry paused again to think. This time he did retrieve the flask. He drained whatever was left.

"No family is perfect," he said. "But they're the best thing I've ever done. Merlin, if anything happens to Albus now—just when you think it's over—"

He went to drink from the flask but remembered he had just finished it. Regretfully, he returned it to his pocket.

"I feel like we keep going around in circles," Harry said.

They sat in silence for a little longer. Andromeda would be coming down soon to prepare lunch for the children and their relatives. It would force them both into action. He could already tell the moment was slipping away and that nothing had been resolved. If anything, they were both more worried for the other. It was almost laughable.

It was time for Teddy to forgive his parents, he knew. If he didn't learn to forgive them he would never heal. It was hard to admit you hated a martyr, let alone your own mother and father.

"Hey," Harry said, disrupting the moment. He half stood and Teddy did too, looking around in alarm. But Harry only pointed outside and even through his untamed beard it was clear that he was grinning. "Look at that! It's snowing."

* * *

Having pushed herself to her absolute limit over several days, Rose slept heavily throughout the morning. Neither Scorpius nor Albus minded. It was almost a relief to have her ferocity penned away in her dreams for a few extra hours. They took this time to count their stock of food and potions, and then, looking for an excuse to get out of the cave, they went searching for firewood.

The plan with the selkies seemed like the workings of a lunatic but they had no better ideas. Both young men would have to confess that they knew hardly anything about selkies. It was a NEWT subject of Care of Magical Creatures and neither had chosen the elective in their sixth and seventh years. They could list the facts they knew on one hand: selkies were similar to the merpeople in the Black Lake, but less aggressive; they were shapeshifters that took the form of seals in the water; they could not return to the water without their seal-skins.

Seal-folk were capable of ancient magic beyond anything humans could produce with a wand. Even if Rose was right and the selkies surfaced on the winter solstice, they were under no obligation to help two wizards, a witch and a goblin who had nothing to offer in return. Would they even risk being attacked as they had by the centaurs?

They collected sticks and bracken along the sandbanks that could be dried out to feed the fire. Albus generously allowed them to work in silence without trying to have a one-sided conversation. Albus had always been good like this. Unlike Rose, he was comfortable in the lengthy silences that Scorpius often retreated into. If it weren't for his tongue, it would have almost felt intentional.

They slowly made their way back to the caves, using their arms to shield themselves from the blasts of wind. What sand wasn't frozen solid was blown into their faces with the stinging accuracy of a hundred furious Bowtruckles. They returned to their shelter with renewed gratitude.

When they got back, Rose was still asleep and Romnuk was still unconscious. They sat by the fire, contemplating whether they should crack into their supplies for breakfast or skip the meal to conserve supplies. Albus was of the mind that Scorpius needed to eat well and regularly to return to his full strength after his injuries, while Scorpius felt that they should ration their food from now as the journey ahead was unpredictable. Scorpius communicated this by tugging the bag from Albus' hands and tossing it over to Rose's sleeping bag.

Albus raised his hands in surrender but did not seem satisfied.

They began drying out the wood with their wands so they could fuel the fire. While they had some daylight now, they needed it to stay warm. In any case, it was going to be the shortest day of the year. Keeping the fire strong wouldn't hurt.

Albus glanced over at Rose. "It's not just me who thinks this selkie idea is mental, right?"

Scorpius smirked and shook his head. He also thought it was an outlandish plan but most of Rose's outlandish plans had worked.

Albus was not so trusting. They had no reason to believe the selkies could help them, and if he were completely honest, he was not expecting any selkies to surface at all. He was anticipating this disappointment and then another round of problem-solving.

He desperately wished he could talk it through with Scorpius, especially now as his cousin slept. Scorpius was such a methodical, logical thinker. Surely he'd had a Plan B forming in his mind. If only he had some way to share it.

Scorpius pointed at Romnuk and then tapped the temple of his head twice. Albus twirled his wand in his hand.

"You think I should wipe his memories now?"

Scorpius nodded.

"I've never tried the Memory Charm before. It would be so much easier if we could just brew a Forgetfulness Potion," Albus lamented.

Scorpius nodded plaintively. They were most in sync when they brewed together. Alchemy lessons had corroborated that fact. But Albus did not want to dwell on Alchemy too long. It reminded him of Imogen, of Stella Bellucci, of the horrible potion Scorpius had brewed a few days earlier and the glittering red stones infused with the mystery poison. He did not want to think of Dark Magic. He did not want to stop for too long to think about any of it.

"I suppose I should do it now while Rose is asleep," Albus conceded.

Memory Charms would solve most of their problems. If they could wipe their memories of certain traumas and events, would they be able to go back to being the people they were before? Before that terror attack in the Three Broomsticks, before Meredith was dead. If he were to wipe Rose's memories while she was asleep so that she never even remembered who Meredith was, would that resolve everything?

He looked over at Rose's body, curled up in the sleeping bag. Even in sleep, she looked tense. Her brow was pinched and her lips pursed. Her eyelids flickered with dreams. To remove someone's memories without their consent was a grave thing. Even with their consent, it seemed like an unwise thing to do. Memories, even the very worst of them, were the sum of their identities—however broken and mangled they had become.

Albus sighed heavily and moved over to Romnuk. He would erase any memories of rancour over the last few days that would stop Romnuk from cooperating. This at least he could do without an uneasy conscience.

* * *

Harry's hatred for his old potion's classroom was so vehement that he took pleasure in the sight of its destruction. When the Slytherin dungeons had been flooded, all of the phials and pickled jars had been smashed or swept away by the water. Everything was ruined. Shelves, ingredients, books. Draco had volunteered to sort through the inventory of everything that had been damaged or lost, and repair the room to its former state. Harry found him in the room, carefully going over a sheet of parchment. When he looked up and saw that it was Harry who had entered, he sneered.

"Did no one ever teach you how to groom yourself, Potter?" Draco asked snidely, his eyes combing over Harry's unkempt beard and shoulder length hair with contempt. Harry's appearance could not be in greater contrast to Draco, whose silver blonde ponytail remained neatly bound at the nape of his neck. He was freshly shaven too. Smelled of a nice aftershave. Where did he have the time?

"No, sadly. Although, unlike you, I did get lessons in how to not be an absolute git," Harry said.

They stared at one another for a few seconds as if sizing up whether it was worth reverting into their eleven-year-old selves, flinging stupid insults at one another. Then Draco pointedly returned his attention to the parchment on the desk.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Do you have anything to drink?"

Draco looked up, genuinely surprised. "Something to celebrate?" he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned towards the cauldron filled with waterlogged debris and smashed phials. Bat spleen and rat tails sat on the very top of the pile.

"Hermione wanted me to check in with you about her offer," Harry acknowledged instead.

"Tell her I'm steeply underqualified to become the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Draco said coldly, returning to his papers.

"The public service would suit you."

"Ha!"

Draco returned his quill to his inkpot. He stared at Harry for a moment, studying him curiously.

"Rumour has it that you're not returning to the Auror Headquarters."

"I recommended Ron to take that office."

"He's a complete buffoon.".

"Which also happens to qualify him for the public service."

Draco chuckled in spite of himself and rounded the desk. While they had finally unflooded the dungeons and drained the lake out of the lower levels of the castle, the room still smelt terribly of mildew and salt. The dampness would probably cling between the stones for months yet. Such an odd place for Draco Malfoy to volunteer to spend his time.

Draco was thinking the same about Harry. Why was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, not off rebuilding the Ministry? Fighting to attain Minister for Magic? Restoring the Auror Department at the very least? Why was he here at Hogwarts, dragging his feet whenever he was asked to undertake any task that required even an ounce of leadership?

"Were you joking about that drink?" Draco asked.

Harry raised his eyebrows, indicating that he was not. Draco lifted his wand off the desk and Summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from his internal office. He conjured two small tumblers from the air and set them on the desk. The bottle poured out two measures all on its own, then sat itself down on the table.

Harry immediately crossed the room to claim his glass. "You were holding out on the good stuff."

He took the shot down in a gulp and tapped the bottle with his wand so it would refill. Draco tilted his head. Now that Harry was closer, he could see how glassy his green eyes were.

"You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"Hardly," Harry snorted. "It's been like a bloody prohibition around here."

He tried harder to sip the second drink more slowly and self-consciously. He was in a bad way, Draco realised. He looked dreadful. Draco couldn't ever remember seeing him like this. The beard had been becoming on Harry when he had first grown it. Now it reminded Draco of the old bar tender of the Hog's Head.

"To rebuilding the Ministry," Draco said, raising his glass in a toast.

Harry gratefully copied the gesture as it gave him an excuse to finish the drink. "To staying behind," Harry echoed back.

Draco shook his head. He wasn't after a toast, perhaps for once in his life. He certainly didn't want one from Harry Potter.

"I often wonder if things would have been different should we have taken Scorpius and left. Perhaps he would have hated us for it but at least he would be safe."

Harry was silent. His green eyes penetrated Draco uncomfortably. It was making him feel defensive.

"I don't care if you think I'm selfish for it. If he hadn't insisted on staying with those other two, we would have taken him and run."

Harry finally looked away. "I considered taking my family and leaving."

This revelation was so surprising that it made Draco sputter. He could not imagine Harry Potter running from anything in his entire life. He had always seemed to waltz right into danger as if he were trained in the dance. It had always infuriated Draco—the bravery.

"Don't look so shocked," Harry said. "It's how all good parents think." This was paid as an uncharacteristic compliment towards Draco, with a raised glass. It made his former enemy uncomfortable. Harry went on quickly to cover his generosity, "in the end there were too many of us to go on the run. And anyway, Albus, Rose and Scorpius had already set their own path. No stopping them."

"Someone must explain to me how our sons ended up being such good friends."

"Because you and Astoria raised Scorpius well. And my one knows how to pick 'em."

"To our own detriment," Draco added. "Who knew morals came at such a high cost."

Draco finished his drink in silence as he contemplated how dense this last comment had been. Of course, Harry bloody Potter knew exactly the cost of morality. He had bankrupted himself on his morality.

To his credit, Harry did not comment. He didn't move or go to leave. Draco wracked his brains as to why Harry Potter had sought out his company. For a friendly drink? Unlikely. To badger him on behalf of their Minister for Magic? Slightly more believable had he badgered more, but they had not returned to the topic. The drink was the greater give away but not because Harry was there for a sociable encounter. Hogwarts was low on alcohol. The only place that still stored a few bottles other than Draco's office was Hagrid's primitive hut. Perhaps Harry felt less shame getting a drink off Draco than he did seeking one from Hagrid. After all, he saw that old oaf as a sort of father figure.

So, Harry Potter was an emotional wreck. Draco was not sure why this had only now occurred to him. Had he not endured his own demons in his lifetime? Had he not still felt the twinge of the Dark Mark once branded on his forearm? Men more often than not covered their pain with bravado or heroism or even contempt.

"It's killing you, isn't it?" Draco asked.

Harry winced and passed the empty glass from one hand to the other. Was Draco interrogating him to cruelly pull aside the light-hearted banter, to reveal the heartbreak behind the veil? It would his old habit to humiliate in this fashion, to taunt to the point of torture. Or was this question his olive branch, a conciliatory offer? Draco was trying, in his imperfect way, to empathise. The question may have been rephrased to, "it has been killing me also."

He was too self-conscious to clarify that his intention were to empathise, not to demean. The interrogating tone built a facade of arrogance only to make it easier to bridge the years of stoniness between them through his unspoken empathy.

"You never had parents to worry, I suppose." Draco said this in an off-handed way, still the old habit to demean. He hardly noticed how tactless it was. He went on, "But I now have a greater insight into what I put my mother through. Not that I had a choice, of course. With my father in Azkaban."

Harry only nodded. He was debating with himself—no, battling himself—whether he should reach for a third drink. Hell, he would have preferred to drink from the bottle. It was already working on him, a kind of languid liquidity. He was afraid to disarm himself in front of Malfoy by drinking more.

But Malfoy was laying down his arms in his own way, continuing with his confession.

"Scorpius was such a sensitive child. I tried to teach him to guard himself from outward influences so that he may not be swayed as I was swayed."

"You think Rose and Albus were swaying influences," Harry acknowledged.

Draco tipped back his head. He considered this for some time. Harry was stating the obvious, of course. His outburst at the Centaurs attested to his feelings towards the Potter-Weasley Brood. But he seemed to relent.

"I wanted our existence as a family to be neutral and Astoria felt the same. Keep our heads down. Neutral and aligned to no faction. But I fear I mostly damaged him. I am not sure if I ever knew how to love him or if he ever felt loved. Our family was so marked by shame. We tried our hardest to love and spoil him but I think from his very youngest years he envied your family. You never had to _try._ It was natural."

"He envied us?" Harry asked.

"I know for a fact that he was pleased, even back then, that Rose Weasley had landed herself in Slytherin alongside him."

Harry chuckled. He poured them both a third glass, this time by hand. He splashed a generous amount into Draco's tumbler. They were careful to sip the drinks slowly.

"It is killing me," Harry admitted. He examined the amber liquid in his glass. It was as if every sorrow of his life was compounding upon him to feel the absence of Albus. He felt again the death of Cedric, of Sirius, of Dumbledore. The loss of Moody, Remus, Tonks and Fred. Then of course Seamus, Kingsley and all the others who had recently perished. It all seemed to build to Albus leaving, as if his departure with Rose and Scorpius was a final nail in his coffin. It seemed so senseless when he had no reason to believe the kids were dead. But still, it was impossible to shift the weight. It felt as if he was preparing himself for the loss of his son by relieving all of his past grief—and still, he knew that losing Albus would not even compare.

He couldn't dwell on it for too long without feeling mad. He remembered how wilful he, Ron and Hermione had been back at that age. How their three reminded him of these younger selves. He kept drinking to drown these thoughts, to keep them glossy and slow.

It was not the first time he had wanted to forget. Following the end of the Second Great Wizarding War, the grief had devastated him for ages. He kept thinking in the months that followed Voldemort's fall that things would change, that there would be a shift and a return to life before. It occurred to him on the first anniversary of the battle—the anniversary of death for so many of his dear friends—that the grief would never shift. It was not something to move on from, but something to learn to live with. It seemed unbearable at the time. He had night terrors every time he slept, revisions of the past where he was always too late to stop them dying. It was too heavy, this grief, he thought. He was desperate to put it down.

The nightmares became unbearable. In those days, he would drink a sleeping potion every night and glide through the following day in a groggy mist. It went on for almost two weeks before Hermione staged an intervention and poured all the bottles down the toilet.

Now it was as if he was numbing himself in preparation. Like an anaesthesiologist preparing a patient before an operation. To lose Albus, or James, or Lily would be like losing his own limbs, his own heart. If it were to happen, he needed to be adequately numb as to not feel the brutality of the amputation.

And Albus was tracking down a murderous goblin—if that indeed was their plan—and he had no way to contact him, no way to guide him or protect him. Letting him join the Order had been one thing. This was entirely different. This was the wheel turning. This was exactly what he had done at seventeen. How cruel it must have been for Mrs Weasley.

"You've always been so strong," Draco commented, bringing Harry back out of this reverie. It was an unusual compliment from Draco Malfoy. "You've gotten through a lot in this lifetime. More than most men could handle."

"I don't feel strong at all."

Draco pained himself for the right thing to say, for some pearl of wisdom. He could not think of anything.

"How have you managed all this time, then?" he asked.

Harry stared into his drink before finishing it. He placed it down on the desk with some finality, declaring that it was the last. "Friendship. And love. It made me strong when I wasn't."

Draco raised what was left of his glass but did not repeat the words out loud. Friendship and love. It sounded so foolish and soppy. Once he would have rolled his eyes and scoffed, but not now. There was more to life than ambition and power. He knew this.

They stood in silence for a few moments longer. To break it, Draco tentatively asked, "Does Granger really see me as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Me, of all people?"

"She suggested you personally," Harry shrugged, his words fuzzy now. "Thinks you have shown surprising talent for diplomacy and, er, what did you call it? Neutrality."

Draco smirked. "Shall we have one final drink to that?"

* * *

As the day had progressed, they had taken turns sleeping but Rose had woken at midday wide-eyed and alert. She had indulged in sleep and was ready for the long, black night ahead. They wouldn't let her keep watch alone—Albus slept first, then Scorpius. She suspected that they were afraid to leave her awake, unwatched, while Romnuk laid nearby unconscious. Admittedly, it took all her restraint not to smother him while he slept.

This had been her restless dream while she had slept; along the shore, she had been running from him, a weight clinging to her back. She could not see her but she knew she was carrying Meredith. They ran for shelter from the beach, towards a cave, certain that if they got there everything would be okay. Romnuk ran after them. Rose was wet, as if she had been in the water. A heavy force hit her on the back and knocked her to the ground. Sand in her eyes, in her mouth. She stumbled to her feet and readjusted Meredith on her back. The wet on her back was warm now. She could feel blood seeping through her clothes but it wasn't her blood. The cave was up ahead but the boys were no where to be seen. If she got to the cave in time she would be able to save Meredith. If only she had been kinder to her. If only she had been gentler. She launched herself into the cave, into its protection, and slid Meredith off her back in order to heal her. But the body that dropped from around her shoulders was not Meredith's but Romnuk's.

She felt the boys watch her and she watched him. A circle of vigilance.

Scorpius slept in the evening after their meagre supper. Hunger was gnawing at Rose. They had not eaten well for a couple of days now and she was beginning to feel it. Albus joined her at the mouth of the cage. She could hear his stomach growling in protest of their left-over pumpkin soup.

"You gave the mirror to your mum, didn't you?" Albus asked in a hushed voice. He did not want Scorpius to wake, let alone to hear him.

Rose nodded. It had been Albus' idea in case everything was to go wrong. She had exchanged the bag her mother had given her for the mirror. It was her hope that they would have no occasion to use it.

"Perhaps we could contact her and see if she could give us any tips for healing Scorpius' tongue," Albus suggested.

Rose was immediately against the idea. She shook her head vehemently and checked that Scorpius was still asleep. If he knew this were an option, he would insist they take it. It was painful to see him like this but still far too risky to contact her mother. If Hermione knew what had happened to Scorpius or what they were planning to do, she may send the Order after them. She may try to take over. It could throw everything off kilter. As far as the Order was aware, they were just trying to track down and kill Romnuk. If they discovered they were working with him…

Even Rose found it difficult to accept this necessary evil. Working with Romnuk went against every fibre of her being. During her waking hours, where she was in control of her own mind, she dreamt up ways to kill him. Smothering him, drowning him, breaking all his bones. There were so many ways to make one suffer. While her mother may not condone such devilish devices, she certainly would not sanction their collaboration with a murderous goblin either.

While it was frustrating to see Scorpius in such a pitiful state, his injuries were not hampering them enough to warrant such action. He was the most advanced at non-verbal magic. He was able to communicate enough with them to get by. They had a vague idea of what steps needed to be taken next without his counsel. Once it was all done, they could focus on mending all of their injuries.

They stared out at the sea. Albus was doubting her plans. This was why he wanted Scorpius' tongue healed. He wanted another voice of reason in the group, someone else to veto her ideas. But she felt good about this. It was the unknown and it was reckless to rest their chances on it, but she trusted the advice of the little black book. If the selkies were good enough for Merlin, they would be good enough for her.

And wasn't the fact that it just happened to be the winter solstice an indication of this prophetic plan? It was not as if the selkies were due to surface any other day.

The waves continued to lap against the beach and the wind howled like a banshee. It was eerily dark although the stars were bright. The later it got, the more pronounced their radiance became. She could see whole constellations in their milky pool of night sky, without any other light pollution to drown their luminosity. The night was so dark that she could not tell where the horizon lay, turning the expanse beyond the milky foam of the seashore into one endless abyss. It was getting quite late. Where were they?

Just as Rose was beginning to doubt herself, she noticed something over the water. She felt it first, an electricity, a tingling on the back of her neck and along her spine. Then she saw it. Albus noticed it too, quite unnecessarily pointing towards the horizon and saying, "look!"

Above the water, sprawling across the sky like a dancing ribbon, the Northern Lights began to shimmer. The Aurora glowed a glorious green that lit up the clear sky and sparkled across the sea. They marvelled, lost for words, as the universe boasted a magic of its own.

Then Rose gripped Albus' arm tightly. This time, it was her turn to point. "Wake Scorpius," she said urgently. "I can see them coming."

* * *

 **A/N: I wrote the bulk of this while I was travelling Scandinavia and even spent some time in Norway (the Goblin Kingdom) which is uncanny! Art reflects life or life reflects art?**

 **Come and follow me on instagram vanscribbles to stay up to date with my other creative ventures.**

 **Review, let me know what's missing from this. I think what's missing is some more ridiculous young adult drama so prepare for some oc character arcs to truly arc in the next chapters.**


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